Thus, it happened. What started as drizzle at 3 A.M. turned into fast precipitation in an hour, and by the break of dawn, symmetrical, many a kilometres per hour rain. But it was brilliant. The hostel became an island, as the closest gutter overflowed, giving us immense joy as we got to call our place 'riverside apartments'. The stench early after the rains ended, is another story. The high tide further aided the depression over the Arabian Sea and by afternoon yesterday, the whole bunch was a bundle of joy. That was till the electricity was tripped off and we were told the mess was semi-underwater and with time, rations might run out and thus, it led to afternoon siesta to overcome laziness, either way. Awoke, transpiring into some intense thought, provoking ourselves to go get ourselves an Old Monk and with it, almost Rs. 300 plus worth of food materials for the night, absurd. A long night which ended with Tarun, myself, and Sharadh just somehow managing the whole bottle without really get high. Good going, folks.
I would reward myself more for this picture than the B&W photoshop. A spectacular motion captured, as people scurried for cover from the Seaface and I gained enough time to spoil the camera. But either way, whatever makes ME happy. And that was wrong on my part, according to the communications professor, it is rude to write in capitals. Sounds like one is shouting at the other, is that not the point anyway?
And now, it becomes Sunday. A day when a normal and lazy myself would generally take time to get out from the right hand side of the bed before just randomly doing nothing at all. Unshaven and unwashed, it is that day of the day when you look best, an averag. e hair day and not bothered in the least about how life proceeds. After garam tea, and lunch, one can adjust some time in retrospect or rather, introspect of how and what life has become and where it shall take me.
But today, I woke up to get out and take the Western Line, the 1040 slow from Ville Parle to Churchgate, a BEST from the station and before I knew, rain and Colaba beckoned. There is something about this part of Bombay. Its real, its jovial, and it can make me make my day any time of the year.
It is the reason why I get up from my seat and head to the train gate, as soon as the train crosses Mahalaxmi. Standing there, watching the line proceed, just to check out the train lines and view along the West, the ever dirty yet gracious Police Gymkhana, that double tennis court, the majestic Wankhede, a patch of ground which is forever flooded (even if there is basic showers) and a clean hockey turf along with the Marine Drive coast. There is a reason a Santa Cruz or Bandra or Goregaon will never be Bombay and that is it.
Those 2 minutes the train does pause at Marine Lines is enough to remind anyone at all of Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron and the flyover in the background makes it much more obvious. "Hum Honge Kamiyaab..Ek Din..." What selfish singing, then.
This is a brilliant picture and I don't remember whom to credit it to. But its brilliant. The tag line on the truck outdoes the Robert Frost lines in the movie I just spoke of. The sweet precious rain drops fall after one another or rather, in tandem, just becoming a pool as they touch the concrete, the smell further paralysing any form of movement in me. A sense of happiness evolves as monsoon takes control. The most expensive real estate in India is mere resemblance to form a background was someone to take a picture of me from a boat on the sea.
A disruption in routine. I still stand still. Moved by an average weekend with glimpses of why I am not the happiest person in the world. But I have learnt one important lesson through yesterday, Old Monk is not exactly as good as it used to be sometime ago.
And hence, the last bit of weekend hath past. A will to move out of this safe periphery called 'town' is becoming rapid by the minute. That is the splendour of life. A boring, monotonous, and a devoid of emotion life that can be made to seem 'better than usual' by simply writing it out. Not that I really credit myself with much.
"boss, ek coffee aur dena..."
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment