The Hip-Hop Artist


“Excuse me sir, I’m a tourist to these parts. Where may I find some snickers?”


“Snickers sir, I’m looking for both the edible kind and the kind that comes in the size of UK 12.”

The hare stood on both its feet. He seemed like a fine young gentleman with his long hat and mulberry covered yet polished walking stick. He looked a bit odd as he made his way closer, hopping all the while on the cobbled street towards the boy whose eyes were covered like one of those small dogs. He was astonished, so much to the extent that he brushed the pale brown hair out of his eyes. Suddenly, there was a whiff of breeze felt in areas that he never knew the breeze was even capable of reaching. A droplet of sweat emerged. Normally, the hair would have soaked it up. This time, it was the turn of the eyebrow to do its duty. But alas, the droplet bypassed his eyebrow and went straight into his eye, causing a slight sting. In the meantime, a red double-deckered bus skidded to a stop at the nearest bus stop.

“Sir, the snickers? Where can I find them?”

“But you don’t have feet, you’re a hare! You shouldn’t even be talking…why are you talking?”

“That’s a little bit rude now don’t you think? Didn’t your mother teach you some manners? You deserve a nice red spanking, dear young man!”

The boy stood petrified. Normally he would have enjoyed this, since for once the real world seemed to resemble some sort of a cartoon. Reality however, is like the metro approaching the station from a distance- at first it looks like a small speck of dust that you wouldn’t mind throwing yourself in the path of, until suddenly you realize the magnitude of the size of this speck when it is a mere 2 meters away. By then it’s already too late. I guess what I’m trying to say is that reality seems innocuous, but only when it resides in one’s head and not in the outside world. It could be the other way around too though.

The boy muttered something. If his words were human beings, then they would probably have tripped and stumbled and fallen on every gap in the stones on the cobbled street.

“Come on, now. Is there a lake that this muttering rambled stream of consciousness is about to empty itself into? I’m still waiting for you to apologize!”

“I’m sorry!”

The hare acknowledged his response and hopped along. His hops were so graceful that I couldn’t blame somebody for referring to him as a hip-hop artist.

The boy still stood in his spot, wondering what the bloody hell had just taken place in front of him.

I guess the panic that had been awakened in him was the fault of his mother. She didn’t know how to tell him that behind those blue eyes resided a brain that had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and the hallucinations that accompany this mysterious ailment.





About Banda Mann Singh Lamba

I'm here to create art in the form of words. Come, take a dip in my day dreams.
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