At the bottom of a Lake

It’s never enough.

At the bottom of a certain frozen lake is a clear drop of water that is resting from the tiredness of hanging like a viscous cloud in the lungs of a tigress that hunted three wild rabbits to feed her cubs. It took the drop about 37,000 miles of travelling across the cell membranes of food chains, grazing landscapes and rising up into the geography of a blue stratosphere, a lone cloud with a silver lining that silently hit the present-day Heathrow air corridor even before airplanes learnt to fly. Thereon, she condensed and poured powdery flakes upon a mountain lake lined with cherry trees. The year was unknown.

Until spring, she lay there. Hibernating.

Like bears who have hunted different species of fish from that very lake. 2700 winters later, that drop found its way into my brow after a run today and no one knows how. She whispered to me, as I almost wiped it off with the right sleeve of my blue tee-shirt. The year is 2017. Here’s what she said -

“The amount of water currently on the Earth is essentially constant, but it is always moving around in a complex cycle that takes it on multiple routes between the atmosphere, underground, glaciers, bodies of plants and animals and surface waters, such as lakes, oceans and rivers. What you’re drinking today is the mere 0.1 per cent of the available fresh water. It’s precious.”

It is the earth’s hard work since before the dinosaurs that we are sprouting from this old boat in my small town, Allahabad.

We’ve only heard of thirst, but perhaps we’re just waiting to feel it ourselves. One day, I promise you, we will. From the bottom of a frozen lake and into my brow, I don’t have much respect for nature’s hard-work. Like you, I drowned it at the edge of this man-made pond while it was screaming to be saved. They charged me Rs. 5/- for a ticket, and I was happy to pay; what keeps going is the spin around the sun — the earth doesn’t stop for anyone, she just loves to sweat.

It’s never enough.