First Light..

The unanticipated metamorphosis from the quiet of the dark cloudy night to the daily hustling and bustling takes just about an hour in comparison to the month long transformation of a pupa to an adult butterfly. Visible to the early morning joggers along the paved streets, the metropolis comes to action at the strike of the primitive hour. Gleaming cars and lengthy motorcades making their way across the toll bridge and entering the skyscraper clad locale; screeching and honking and composing a raucous din enough to make the whole of the earth wake up.

With the vehicles making their way into the bowels of the earth and the gargoyles of concrete, the vicinity becomes littered with early morning stragglers, each ambling towards their private places of work, and puffing on their Marlboros. Chants of newspaper boys and vendors of early morning refreshments being heard over the din produced by the automobiles and their occupants is a fact to have faith in.

As the clock nears to make a 120 degree angle with the number 12, the people rush forward faster and in even larger throngs. The then clean streets, now plastered with cigarette stubs and torn newspapers, act as a complete contrast to the well-maintained concrete complexes with shining glass windows. Doors and windows thrown convivially open to the visitors and the shoppers to begin a day filled with bargaining and earning. 

The deafening din created by the honks and the shouts feels like heaven to passersby in comparison to the unending talks of the worms emerging from their single hidey-hole, pushing and shoving, all in a hurry. The fatigued traffic signal continues to blink of its own record as a swearing policeman attempts to establish some form of control at the center of the city. But the people and their machines never stop at anything.