Zubu laughed when others cried. Zubu cracked up when he saw someone falling down and getting hurt. Zubu became happy when he saw people sad. Such was Zubu. People detested him. And called him The Little Devil. Whenever Zubu walked on the streets people shunned him and ignored him. Zubu used to chuckle taking great pride in this treatment. Zubu had no friends. And no family. As a kid he lived with a wretched, unloving aunt who had died too leaving him alone. Zubu used to spend his day laughing at other’s miseries and then just before the sun had set he used to sit on the cliff overlooking the sea watching the orange yolk sink in the waters. Somehow this routine made him happy. But not the happiest. Once Zubu was walking on the street when a bus sped and stopped a few feet away. The bus sped away as fast as it had stopped. There was only one person who got off. The bus almost knocked down the person’s luggage. Seeing this Zubu roared with laugh
Collecting Memories and Stories