Somewhat
frost morning but a rejuvenating one he felt, his numb fingers would pick up a
bundle of newspapers and stationed them on his rusty bicycle, his twinkling
eyes had already captured a dream, which was usually blooming on the first
page, brave pilots with majestic planes, when world was facing the calamities
of second world war, an imagination trying to survive in his heart. There was
lack of facilities but choice had made.
And
after a decade our universe blessed with exquisite Missile Man! Here a Salute to
his parents who let him flown without any —forced perception.