Thursday, December 20, 2007

Evenings

A cold night. A hot bath. A shot of vodka. A gently glowing cigarette tucked between by lips. "Rome wasn't built in a day" swaying me from the speakers. Lives were made for such nights. The melancholy washed away, leaving behind pure bliss. Welcome to Wonderland.

A hot bath after such long time, stepping out and curling into a warm sweater. A sense of shedding a layer not wanted. Sitting on a pillow, my back against the wall, I dry my hair. I have a sense that the evening is just beginning. A bottle of Orange Drink is opened. Sipping as though without a care in the world, I populate my playlist.

After I got back that evening, I found a bottle of vodka I had been looking for since a month. It was hidden in the freezer. Excellent. The shot glasses I had bought a while ago come out. While I let the vodka warm up a little, I heat up the water. This time I spend reading today's Indian Express on the internet. Nice editorial on the Indian position in the Bali Climate Conference. The Economist comes next. All while my water gently heats.

One shot goes in easily. The heat eagerly awaited. As I am swayed by the music, the glass is being filled. Time looses its track, on a yet unknown way. And as Amarok plays on, and as the minutes pass on, I realise I am back on track again. As though I had never left. Nights, cold silent nights, were made for such evenings.

I lay back drifting on to sleep. As though an afterthought, I'll say, "We must do this again sometime".

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Nights

It's all quiet out here. The cold, black nights. I sit alone on my bed covered in a thick blanket to keep out the cold. The glowing cigarette end is the only source of warmth in the desolate landscape that is my room. Seconds pass and so do the hours. I sit still staring at the blank wall in front of me. The blinking battery light on my laptop is my only companion. The only sign that the clock is still ticking; that the world is still turning.

It is a cold two in the morning. A faint mist now forms every time I breathe out. A lone dog barks in the distance and a car horn sounds closer. There are no memories of the day passed and no hints of the day yet to come. The light on the All-Out mosquito repellent comes on to tell me that the power is back on. That makes me realise that I wasn't even aware that the power was out. The moonlight filters through my window softening the industrial scene outside as I stare at the trees rustling in the light breeze. Not one sound is heard. Loneliness is such beautiful melancholy.

I walk across the roof covered in few layers of clothing. A vain attempt to keep out the cold that creeps through everything. The main road stretches out in front of me. The smooth immaculate surface of the road lit by tall golden yellow lights as far as I care to see. As I walk along the roof, beneath a flickering street light slowly rides a cycle rickshaw. He is covered in thick rugs, with just his eyes visible. The money must have been worth the cold fare.

Off in the distance, a car screeches to a halt, surprisingly managing to avoid another. Not a word is exchanged between the drivers. The cars move on. Only a group of dogs howl into the distance as if disturbed from their reverie. Not another soul stirs. A tall coloumn of smoke from a distant factory greets me as I turn towards the stairs. The smoke clings to the chimney as though afraid of the cold. I long for the familiar warmth of my bed as I slowly walk down the stairs. Sleep awaits. A heavy, dreamless sleep.