Silence. Inaction. Are those mere absence? Or, a more profound intimacy within? I am sitting now at Allen Park, watching squirrels. At the heart of Park Street, once upon a time at its beginning, this park is never calm. The honking of the cars, the abrupt growl of a Royal Enfield bike and incessant chatters of moms waiting here to pick up their kids after school instill delicate sun rays inside. But how about me? How about the teenager sitting on my left, waiting for his girlfriend? How about the septuagenarian, sitting to my right, reading The Telegraph? Are we part of the noise surrounding us? Technically, yes. But are we affected or altered easily by the things around us? The squirrels look quite active, though. But us? Are we any part of what drives the squirrels, the passers-by, the girl bargaining at the bookstall at footpath or the dog yelling at another dog somewhere around? Somehow, it is not so. Our silence, our inaction, or our musings on such a wintry January morning...