Every evening at four, the Commercial Street of Karnataka came alive with Basha, the street sweeper who sang while he worked. Dressed in shabby clothes but full of life, his songs brought smiles to strangers rushing by.
Always beside him was Kallu, a stray dog who never left his side. They ate together, slept under the stars, and shared the quiet comfort of each other’s company.
One night, Basha didn’t return. Years of hardship and drink had taken him away for good. But Kallu still comes every evening, waiting at the same red light, eyes scanning the crowd, hoping to hear Basha’s song again.
He sits there for an hour, then leaves quietly, as if whispering a promise to return the next day.
And he does. Every day.
I saw him once — sitting there in silence, eyes filled with both hope and grief. It was a sight that spoke louder than words: a tale of loyalty, love, and the ache of waiting for someone who will never return.
This is life.
And the moral — that’s for each of us to find in our own way. In simple words, — love, loss, and the hope that never fades.
