Thus spake Kala Ghoda

They are at it again. gathering around me... having some kind of festival. I wonder what it's all about. They keep talking about Kala Ghoda- Black horse. I think it's very rude. I have a name for God's sake. And a good one too, I can't recall it right away....
I remember days when I used to gallop about, make out with ever willing mares and generally having a good horsy kind of life, till they captured me.

There were days of action, a few battles lost, a few battles won...

And then one day they made me stand on this pedestal in the sun and rain with birds shitting on me. Nobody asked my opinion. Nobody ever does anymore. Such indignities for an old warhorse, who was accostumed to having his own stable and meals on time.

If they want festivals, I could tell them about the kind we used to have, with jousts and trots. We would dress in the brightest fabrics lined with golden lace. And we had personal attendants to shine our mounts. Now all I have is a government worker who scrubs my back with a rough, soapy brush once in a while.

I can still put up with all that. It's not so bad you know, looking at the world go it's own way, from this vantage point, untouched by it all. They seem to be having a great time.
I wish they would give me a chance to tell them about my life some day. I will need some prior notice of course...memory not being what it used to be .... But I am sure they will make a thrilling narration.

I generally accept life without any complaints, I just have one question for you all.
Who the heck is that guy sitting on my back ?


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