Assumptions, by Swarnima Mukherjee

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This article has been submitted by Swarnima Mukherjee for the CLATGyan Blog Post Writing Competition. If you think this article is a good read, ‘Like’ this article on Facebook (the button is at the bottom of this piece) or post a comment using the ‘comments’ section below.

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The night sky holds an unfathomable attraction to mortals like us. It holds all, sees all, and most importantly listens to us all. It is an atheist’s God, a believer’s heaven. Endless poems have sung its praise yet none can capture it in words.

It was under the same night sky that Puraj lay on the terrace floor. It was a clear night with all the stars twinkling away to glory. Do not mistake our protagonist to be a philosophical one, it was just a case of daily load shedding time in summer. But today something was different. You and I could not see it, yet it was so. Puraj’s heart beat as usual, rhythmically with his long drawn breaths. The sky too remained pitch black as usual.

After hours of sizing up the sky, (which basically means he stared a lot at it) Puraj climbed up the wall to see how the affairs at the bird-nest lay. The birds were not back since he had ‘accidentally’ caught (and released in surprise) one of them by its tail. He always wanted a bird for himself but mother forbade him to bring home any. Life limited itself back to staring at the sky which it often did during these times in the summers where he was forced to sleep on the terrace with the rest of the family.

What was different today? Love was in the air. Same old, same old for some of us but Puraj had met ‘the one’ for the first time. He planned to meet her again tomorrow.

Meanwhile he barked that he was hungry and demanded food. How rude don’t you think? Not really for him, he barks a lot. He is my dog you see. Wait, what? Now you have to read it all over again.

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Swarnima Mukherjee aims to write CLAT 2015. Although the words ‘ambitious’ and ‘happy’ are sufficient to describe her, she’ll prefer adding a few more lines. She is an introvert in the garb of an extrovert (but don’t ask her how that works).  {She also loves brackets. Don’t you think the carry your packaged thoughts directly to the reader?}

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