The morning after, the morning after India got knocked out of the world cup, the sun did rise, but it wasn’t all that bright, the birds did chirp, but they weren’t all that loud, the cool breeze still swept across the city, but it still wasn’t that comfortable.

The morning after, life still went on, but it wasn’t the same, there was a deep underlying abysmal feeling, it was overpowering and heart wrenching.

The morning newspaper was duly burnt, there was no point reading it, or even acknowledging its existence. The ashes were then slowly carried away by the wind. Like a billion dreams that were shattered, the ashes cried out while the wind carried it away into the abyss.

The tears from the night before were still fresh, the pain was still sharp but life as it stood, still had to go on.