Short story

It was dusk
The chill was in the air
The birds were homing in
In the hall among the antiques it was quiet
Dusk isnt dark though
It was bright enough
Waiting to him was routine
Patience is hallmark of his profession
He would wait for the kill
No sense in hurrying things up
The pleasure was in the waiting
The actual moments were momentary
In the split of a second it would be over
A flash and thats it then its the past
How many had he seen
From childhood
Honed in the  streets of Chennai later Cochin and then here in Sicily
To become the honcho
The man who mattered
His virtue was patience
Be it in the wild suburbs of mumbai
Or in the dark streets of old Delhi
Or in the dreary cold of snowy Srinagar
He had waited
Amongst the minars of Hyderabad
Or the desert dunes of Bikaner
Bobbing on a camel
To the tunes of a folk song he waited with bated breath
The leapords the cheetahs the tigers the lions they all wait for the bait
They are not in a hurry
So is Hari
Never in a hurry waiting for his pizza in Sicily
Waiting for his masala dosa in Chennai
Waiting for his prawns coconut in Cochin
Waiting for his Biriyani in Paradise in Hyderabad
Waiting for that kabab in Karims
Waiting for mutton rogan ghosh in cold Srinagar
Waiting jalfreizi jaipuri in Bikaner

I waited and it came and i ate
End of story guys
Go to sleep

Harimohan