The Anonymity of Maturity

Refreshing cool wind swept past me as I stood on the balcony of the apartment in which I have rented a room for the next few months. I perused my view of urban Chennai with a lazy eye.

Chennai would probably be a contemporary of California had it been fortunate enough to be a part of a first world country with its stellar beaches and coconut trees of all shapes and sizes on all roadsides at all angles to the ground, laden with fruit.

It is this famous tropical fruit which drew my attention, for today was the first time I ever saw one that resembled a papaya. It was undoubtedly a coconut as it was attached to a coconut tree but it couldn't have been more differently coloured from its peers on other coconut trees if it'd been painted by a person afflicted with red green colour blindness.

I surmised that fruits with unusual appearance were probably young, dressed by their parents in bright clothes, slightly embarrassed at being so openly displayed while their older counterparts had long since lost themselves to the anonymity that comes with maturity.

© Dhanvi S.

July 7, 2018

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