A day isn't hours; neither thoughts nor deeds. It seems to be more like a bouquet of random snippets. Fleeting sights internalized, rather thoughtlessly. Like busy people scurrying down the streets - earphones intact, as if the world were to end shortly and survival is at stake, while silent blooms sway to the breeze, almost cracking a joke at the agitation around. Revolutions are rampant these days. Intellectual proclamations stating God is dead have opened up new vacancies for many haloed beings. Lesser gods reclaim the Ptolemaic system - just that this time the logic behind earth being at the centre of the universe is supported by notions of self-supremacy and authority. Science can mind its business for purposes of theory. For, earth isn't just a planet anymore. It is the abode of the lesser gods - alpha males and females. They rule, they oppose, they establish, they contradict - till death draws a finishing line to this self-driven circus.

A little girl in a striped shabby blue tunic, on her way back from school in the desolate afternoon, quenches her thirst from a roadside blue drum reflecting the sun still. Her software isn't updated. She hasn't heard of the new world order yet. Her tattered ballerina stop in front of a local temple as she bows her head in reverence. Another child crawls by, heading towards the corner of the footpath also known as, home. Leaves fall at random in the wind and a little golden pouch with 'Statutory Warning' printed on it, emptied of its contents, flies across  haphazardly.