โฆ THE SIMBA SERIES
In summer he climbs into his bowl
not to drink
but to become the water.
A small black pug
cooling himself the only way he knows โ
completely.
No complaint.
No explanation.
Just adaptation.
I keep the basin clean for him.
Fresh water every morning.
A small blue bowl on the Kerala floor โ
his private solution
to a problem the world
didn't bother solving for him.
Then the rain came.
The monsoon arrived the way it always does โ
without asking.
And Simba stepped out of the basin.
Shook himself dry.
Looked at me
with those flat, serious eyes
as if to say โ
problem solved.
I have been trying to learn
that kind of simplicity
for fifty seven years.