The rain batters your windshield and your car’s wipers are working overtime. As you constantly hear your tyre finding a fresh pothole. You realise, that its been a wet night.
And then, out of nowhere, you see a thin slender post standing. In the middle of the road. You take this road daily. And you know this post is new. And as you near it, you realise that its a prop. A prop of a old rags and clothes, on an iron rod. Stuck into the road.
For a brief moment you wonder who must have put this up. And why should they have done it. The rain continues to fall.
The car behind honks.
You move on. And in some distance a group of men, standing by the side of the road gesticulate. The rains pour on them as well. You realise that there is quite some water on the road. Not only that, there is a steady current, in the water that’s running under your wheels. Although, this is still the same road.
You realise that the men by the side of the road are attempting to guide you. They stand there. Showing you exactly where the potholes are. And you navigate. Looking at where they are pointing their hands. And in a few quick minutes you cross the stretch.
The rain continues to beat your windshield. With the same force with which it beats their back. You watch them through the rivulets of water that are sputtering off your side mirror.
The men have moved on to guide the car behind. Far beyond, the slender post with rags, is still standing.
And you wonder, how often you gladly suffer, so that someone else has it slightly easier. You hear the rain drops fall on the roof. Silence envelopes your mind.
And your soul as well.