The lights don't always work. They hang there lifeless and ignored. There are patterns of dust on them that look prettier than a lot of stuff that is sold as modern art. Not that I despise modern art. I just love lights more.
What is a filter? The Japanese wale? Nahi, we don't have them. So, we use the sheets of coloured transparent paper that remind one of class 5 projects/ sweet dhabbas that are covered with 'amber' sheets. We had our blues, pinks, reds, ambers and greens. And yes, they looked blue, pink, red, amber and green. Japanese wale got kicked out of business for one day.
There was electronic music all round. People don't know what a rehearsal means. In a couple of dictionaries it seems to mean a time when one plays loud music, walks across the stage (mind you, they are not actors), runs across the stage (again, we're not talking about actors) while the actors are prettily sitting life threateningly on the platforms delivering lines. Aghast at being seen as absorbed into the stage. Being seen as a piece of furniture that seems to be producing some sound. It did bother. A lot.
But we prevailed. Like always. It was beautiful.
Although the city was pink, like someone said we painted it, not just red but with myriad colours that'll colour our vision for days to come. Maybe months. Maybe years. Actually, maybe this lifetime.
Train journeys are always fun. The laughter over food, games and gossip. The stretched out legs with huge blankets to keep them warm. The cards strewn over them. The solving of the mystery of the missing chappals. The war with roaches in coaches. The morning and evening walks at random stations. Eyeing remote places that we'd like to settle in later in life, once retired, invariably adorned with a big mango tree and vast expanse of open spaces. However, I feel by the time we age to retire the vast expanse will be commercialised. Lets retire now. Lets sit under the tree and tell our stories. Its what we all love doing the most. Lets live it.
The cold kept me snuggled in a blanket. A TV remote was held after months. I've forgotten how one watches TV. But I managed to watch a bit of a movie without guilt. Sherlock can do that to anyone. It was a city known to me. There were places to go, people to meet, but I chose to stay inconspicuous. There was something in the air that told me I won't be able to deal with it all together. Withdrawal it still is. It'll never go but I shall be more courageous next time. Walk down those lanes that have made some of the deepest marks and cuts in my soul.
Its funny how one can be alone in a group. A crowd is different. But in a group you know, you can suddenly feel detached. The strings that were holding you snap. Then there is free fall. A sinking feeling that churns the stomach to a great height of discomfort. Its human I guess, but its also human to want to know why.
The sea washes away a lot of filth. Both literal and metaphorical. The air around always refreshes the body and mind. Clears. Purifies. Detoxes. Emerges out a fresher self. Ready to face more. Ready to get more dirty. Both literally and metaphorically.
I lost a friend. It was tragic. I miss him. I wish he'd called. Told me what it was that bothered him. I would have told him to stop. Would have given him a hug. Held his hand till he stopped shaking with fear. Shaking with rage. Shaking with uncertainty. I will never get to see him. His dimpled smile will haunt me for long. Ironical that happy things become haunting. His number is still stored on the phone. I wonder if he'll pick up if I call. Talk to me from heaven. I hope there is one. I want him to be happy there. Very happy, for once. And for all. I love you.
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