Frogs and The Pot

The world seemed to have tuned out of its murmur allowing a stillness to blanket it. The leaves stopped to rustle, the winds did not whistle, the owls seemed to sleep through the night, the bats lost their flight and the market place was barren during the day. All souls, both two and four legged, seemed to have taken comfort in their warm hideouts. 
Why wouldn’t they? After all, the darkest of homes seemed to have more light than the world. The world which was now all things grey. The gravel, the walls, the air, the trees. The winter had coloured the town GREY!

All the noses were left senseless and the human lips reached for amber and became accommodating of all breathing beings by sharing their fire with almost everyone. As the merciless winter of this year unleashed its last wrath by transforming water into glass like solid objects, it was the croaking ones left to fend for themselves. 
With an instinct for survival they all jumped into pots that were left on fire by some saintly souls… maybe for themselves or as a welcome post for these jumpers, who knew?
Either way it worked. They were likely to survive the night.

As the blood began to flow in their bodies again and they regained control of their senses did they stop the panic start to doze off… 

As the water in the pots began to reach a temperature that favoured their little frog bodies and made them feel at home did one of them start to croak incessantly; as if sending out alarm signals for all.
As they all lazily woke up in a frenzy to understand this maniacal urgency when they had just found solace did the alarm raiser say, “We need to hop away from the pots. They are going to be the death of us! We need to leave.” 
While most called it crazy, the older lot called it an immature specimen of youth, some thought of him as the one who was up to some kind of fickle game for more space and the rest followed sheepishly. Feeling dejected and rejected on being thrown out as an outcast, it hopped on with a conscience as clear as air and heart as heavy as boulders. Continuing on its need for survival, it hopped all night to keep warm.

It was only at the break of dawn did he return to its clan. Its body giving up due to over-working. The need for re-energizing was soon becoming of utmost importance- even higher than self-respect and pride; the alarm raiser decided to trace back its path that led him to the clan of majority. No sooner did he reach the heard than he found out that he was the last one standing. The old, the adults, the kids, none had made it through to watch the dawn break and see the glass like encasing of their pond melt away.

Now it shall never know whether it was immature or wise? Whether it was fickle or foresighted. All it knew that it was the only one to survive the storm before the calm. It only knew that it has believed in itself and walked away when things became too comfortable. It knew that anything that could warm up the freezing water to comfort them could also heat it up enough to kill them. And it had been the only one to survive, to breed a new generation.


Sometimes it is all about your gut instinct and believing in what you know. If you are sure that you know better and are being judged for it… think of it as a crazy stormy night and endure until you’re either proven right or have been taught better. But being rejected or feeling like an outcast is no reason to go adapt to things that aren’t better than what you already know. Suck it in, hold on a little while and float. Because baby if you don’t like what you have you need to take charge and show that the change you’re proposing is a good idea- and that’s something you need to do alone sometimes.


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