A Worshipper & A Cynical
She just bent down and touched the plastic speed breaker with her forehead. Her sacred posture and level of dedication as evident from her closed eyes and glued forehead to the dirty speed breaker for considerably awkward time, proved that she was quite used to it. Her black hair spread throughout her head like hasty rangoli and brown handbag was painted in dust. “What are you doing madam?” A CISF personnel asked. An oversized automatic gun was the only thing visible in his whole uniformed figure. The girl stood up with dust smeared on her forehead and with folded hands, she touched it with utmost reverence. Then she turned to the clearly flabbergasted armed sentry and told in a content tone, “I'm paying respect to the symbol of justice system of my country”. A massive lit-up reddish Victorian building named North Block, which housed two powerful ministries of this country stood in front of her profound reverence, maybe being ashamed, or puzzled. I had a busy day ...