My friend and I
were basking under the modest sun,
Talking profound things
about the political economy of India’s foreign policy
On a chilly day in the winter of Delhi.
It was prosaic and intense
At the same time.
In the midst of that
A pretty Indian palm squirrel came running
And grabbed our attention to the uttermost.
She picked up an amla lying on the floor
And nibbled on it and stooped,
Looked around, looked at us
Nibbled again and stopped.
Her furry bare body
Embellished with stripes – black and white,
Her small but deep dark eyes
And her tail pointing towards the sky,
My fingers moved at will
As if to capture her on my canvas.
My friend thought so too.
So he stepped away quietly
His prized DSLR Camera
And capture that moment
To reminisce in the future.
I wanted to stop him
But then let him go.
He returned as stealthily as he had gone,
Only to find that half nibbled amla
Lying abandoned on the floor;
She was gone.
He turned to me
Frustrated, perhaps devastated.
I smiled as I thought
“Life had happened in that moment!”