Every morning schoolbag on his back and water-bottle around his neck, he used to wave at his mom on the window, “Tata, maa!” . On putting his hand in his ‘half-pant’ pocket he used to find that old small piece of blue pebble. He quite gingerly put it down on the black steel cover of the hydrant. And two steps back and one fine shoot.

And so it started, hop, skip, dribble and twist. The pebble danced around the congested streets and he followed. He never bothered about the fat lady on the rickshaw, the shabby cow chewing on putrefied vegetables, the over-crowded office-time buses, the flashy billboards, the yellow umbrellas and rose-tinted glasses. For him, its was just the blue pebble and just it. And the blue pebble sang and smiled and almost pulled him on an invisible leash. And both were happy, they never needed a thing more…

And when he reached the school gates, the pebble kissed him and rolled back into his pocket. And in class when he clasped the pebble tightly in his palms, he knew he had the world at his whims!

And then one morning, the blue pebble was not in his pocket. Only when he did look up in despair, he realised, the blue was still with him.

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