Why the chicken crossed the road… or “It’s an onion… it’s a turkey… no it’s a chicken!” ****

He stood in contemplation. Something disturbed him. Something was not right. He stood still while everyone else whizzed by. And to him, in his own stationary state, everything else appeared to be unchanging, if not deteriorating, in spite of the apparent activity. After a while, he had convinced himself. He had found the outward path. He had to do it. Now. And impulsively, he dashed across the chaotic road, narrowly missing the thundering juggernauts of monster trucks and the speeding cars. And soon, he was on the other side. Safe. And exhilarated. He had made it.

But as he looked back, he saw that several others, caught up in the euphoria, had followed him. And these poor souls had been pitifully crushed by the unyielding onslaught on the road. And then it dawned on him. Nothing had really changed. Except for the hapless victims, who had come to a violent end. But in the larger scheme of things, the monster trucks still whizzed by, in their fervent zeal to get to where they wanted to go. And the hangers on, they still hung on. The ardent followers raced behind, caught up in the excitement, but often falling by the wayside exhausted. The lookers-on stood impassively, watching the scene disinterestedly. The toilers toiled in steadfast resolve, oblivious to everything . And others, elsewhere, carried on in ignorant bliss. Life went on as ordained by Him. And everyone played their part. Even the chicken who crossed the road. And even those who, in a brief respite, debated on Why the chicken crossed the road.