Where the coward stares into his eyes, frightened, for that is what cowards are

I wonder how cowards come to terms with their own cowardice. Is it a sudden, abrupt discovery. Made one dark day while trembling alone in the corner? Or is it a slow, drop-by-drop process, a walk through misty forests leading into a clearing? Or do cowards live their entire lives not knowing that they are cowards? Difficult to believe.

I would imagine cowardice to be an extremely lonely affliction; difficult to survive in numbers. Or perhaps an extremely cancerous affliction, eating and devouring everything until there is nothing left. Destroying the body, destroying the mind, breaking it down bit by cowardly bit.

The rains make bombay an even more temperamental woooman. Sultry and still and then suddenly all mad and throwing tantrums all over the place. Gets difficult to plan things, especially when it comes to travelling anywhere. At least the traffic you can sorta factor in, but rains…

Tantrums.

Thats what they should call musically inclined kids. “Wow, your child is such a tantrum”.

“I am covering my ears like a kid….I am turning up the volume when you speak”

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2 Responses to Where the coward stares into his eyes, frightened, for that is what cowards are

  1. Sroyon says:

    “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber” is a brilliant study of cowardice and courage. I read it at your place in fact, in Bangalore.

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