Ice cream

Although he sighs to himself every so often, the old man – hands folded in his lap and pen neatly clipped to a shirt pocket that betrays the outlines of a mobile phone – sits patiently enough. The boy is completely immersed in his little plastic cup of ice cream. Once in a while he surfaces to look up for approval, and the old man nods and smiles encouragingly.

When the ice cream has begun to melt, the old man takes over the flat plastic spoon. The boy’s white-rimmed mouth is always ready even before the next spoonful.

The old man’s shirt pocket lights up. “Yes yes”, he says to the mobile. “We’ll be home in ten minutes.”

evening breeze

the langurs on the wall

watch every movement