Staring out at a line of tiny flickering lights from my Worli high-rise. The silhouette of structures looming from afar. Bridges. Boats. Bricks. Windows. Walls. Wood. Whores. Wives. Witches. Pavements. Penthouses. Porsches. A Mumbai day being laid to rest, perhaps. Like a mother singing a soft lullaby to soothe her newborn. Or a young couple making torrid love. Their palms pressed against each others. Their toes entangled in a complicated posture. Or an aging widow. Smoothening the creases on her wedding photographs. Time always running out. Here. The way you feel lying still. Coming back. Looking a city you once loved in the eye. Your glances still. Wanting to say so much. To each other. Until you hold back. Knowing its all you got. Noise. Nothingness. Numbness. A strange comfort. Stoic, in parts.
Posted on: Tue, 03 Jun 2014 18:01:10 +0000
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