Once again he found himself at his usual spot, a fishing rod in hand and dreams in his head. The waters of Vembanad had always been kind and for that he was thankful; he never went home empty-handed, but his dreams were what he washed away with the current every single day.
The ducks; they were always there, usually moving in one single file until they got distracted by the boats that crossed their paths daily in the name of tourism. He looked at those boats longingly, envious of those who were mere visitors while he had the lake to himself since he was a young boy. The first time he felt that, he didn’t quite understand why, but the more he watched the ducks, he began to realize.
He lived a modest yet comfortable life but it lacked something, something that he dreamed of while idly watching the ducks swim by. Ever since he was 10 , he would see them come to Vembanad and stay the course of the migration and when it was time they knew that they had to fly away. He liked that about them, the will to just leave and go on another adventure, to leave a secure and safe environment and go some place far away.
He knew he wanted to fly away as well; to a place that gave him something more than beautiful sunsets and a generous supply of fish. He had had that chance too, to do something more. A lucrative opportunity had once knocked on his door but he was the only son of his ailing parents, the father of a little girl and the husband of a woman he had met 5 years back at a common friend’s house during Onam; it was love at first sight he had claimed. He loved his family, a little too dearly maybe, so he had politely said goodbye to that opportunity and cajoled his distressed heart. After all nothing is more important than family.
A slight tug and he knew the lake had blessed him again, dinner was going to be hearty. The sun was setting, he looked at the ducks swimming away, and wondered where they went every single night. Maybe he’d never know but he would definitely see them again the next day and that comforted him, atleast until it would be time for the ducks to go away.
This is a work of fiction. I am trying a new series where I will attempt to write a short story or poetry based on photos that I have taken during my travels. This is where I will let my imagination run wild and write down words based on what the photo speaks to me. Do let me know if you enjoyed reading this and would like me to continue this series!