“If you were missing a fi sh today, why did you throw that one away yesterday?”Mother half teased.
“Today is today. Yesterday was yesterday. Are you buying me another fi sh or not?” Said father impatiently.
“The same yellow fi sh?”
“Yes, the same yellow fi sh.”
Off we went with umbrellas. On the way to the market, the image of father’s fi ngers and fi ngernails naturally emerged from nowhere. Walking mostly in silence, I couldn’t stop thinking, If only I could be quick enough to steal a picture of them. If only I could paint and feature them in the liberal fl ow of a brush. If only I could frame them in a photograph. Yes, a photograph is the best for being a realist.