The grasshopper leaned against the ant hill. He looked more blue than green, his long limbs frosted over. He sighed! The warm red glow from within the anthill brought a strange stirring of emotions within him.
‘I can’t take it anymore’ said the ant brushing against the grasshopper as he sat down on the cold mud ‘this monotony is going to kill us all’
‘Yeah! I like the cold rush of fresh air….’ The grasshopper said in a raspy tone ‘with frosty crystals locking out all dreams, the wind numbing the hunger pangs …..
‘Hey man! Such poetry! Come on come on….’
‘I am too cold for poetry…..poverty doesn’t make great art!’ protested the grasshopper as the ant ushered him in.
‘Ladies and gentleman, I bring you the Grasshopper hipper—.’
The grasshopper amazed at the opulence, sang out a melodious tenor- SILENCE
‘Not that! make it screechy, make it rap! These are ants with class’ said his benefactor
He took a deep breath and began:
‘Ra ra ant-on-pins
Let’s drink and grin’
Roars and thumps of delight greeted him. Later, flush, green and exhausted, all he said was ‘I am too warm for poetry… money doesn’t need great art!’
Mumbai/ Jan 2019