CART 2047

“Stop cooing, you moron.” I woke up, irritated, to a cuckoo’s constant hollering for the past half hour. Rubbing my eyes, I stepped into the balcony. I am gonna scare the hell out of you, I muttered.

“Idiot, you won’t be spared for you have ruined my dream.”

Never mind, but this is what I turn into when I am pissed off. Abuses queue down the throat and my larynx stretches out in a catapult fashion. Anyway, what happened next wasn’t a well thought out course of event.

“I am going to kill you.” I screamed; and as I was about to put on my specs, the cuckoo bit me on head and flew.

“You, son of a …” I got furious enough that I threw my pricey specs at it. Oops!


“Nikhil, hurry up. You are already late today. Don’t you have to attend class?” My roomy Rabish called out from the kitchen. He is so fond of cooking that every morning, he makes me breakfast so I don’t have to rely on dhaba.

“What time is it?” I asked him.

“It is past your set out time.” He informed. “By the way, who were you talking to in the balcony?”

“It was no one.”

“Here. I made you bread omlette.” Rabish put the plate on the dining. “I am going to office. Get a bus today.”

“Okay. Must I thank you buddy, for not offering me a ride.” I replied in sarcasm. Before I got to the drawing room, he left.


I quickened on the morning affairs and had my breakfast in a jiffy. As I reached out to grab a rickshaw, a horse cart stopped by.

“Where to, babuji?” The cartwaalah asked. He was bald and skinny. Poor fellow, I thought. And then, it occurred to me that I should enjoy a different ride. So, I hopped in.

The cart stopped again after a mile. I was surprised to see the crowd. Everyone, including women, was bald.

“What the hell?” I was shocked. “Bhaiya, how come every passenger is bald?” I asked the cartwaalah.

“Why don’t you ask yourself?” He replied as if I were responsible for everyone’s baldness. “What about you? How you got bald?”

“Me? Do I look bald?” I pat my head to counter him. A chill went down my spine. “No way. How did it happen?”

“Now, you see. You and I never valued the resources that Mother Nature gifted us with, and I am surprised that you come to know of your baldness today. Boy, it is 2047 and we celebrate 100 years of independence with just the drops of water to avail.” The cartwaalah held tight my right arm. “It’s been 10 years of dryness now. Were you in a coma?”

“No, I was not in a coma.” I replied. “But I think if you do not let go off me, you will run into a coma.” I was furious like anything.

Get your hands off me. Leave me. Leave me. Leave me. I shouted in pain.


“Hello boy.” A familiar voice reached me. “Don’t you have to attend class?” It was Rabish. I was jolted from a nap. “I put the buckets out. Hurry up.”

I pat my head in anxiety. Thank God, it’s there. I muttered.

“You smuck, close the tap.”

Nikhil Bhaskar

Knikhil Bhaskar is a mechanical engineer by profession, and a blogger by choice. He writes poems and short stories, and likes to address environmental issues. He presently lives in Delhi, and is attending a full time course on Intellectual Property Rights and Patent Management.