Collage
**Present**
The small raindrops fell all over my body and felt like the tiny scintillating stars that filled a portion of the sky. The sea was roughing up in an intimidating fashion, trying to remind something, trying to scare away the few people who braved the drizzle and the waves, and were either chatting sweet nothings into their palms pressed against their cheeks, or holding someone’s hands and gazing ahead at the eternity that lay before them. The rain was thickening up. I got inside the car. R looked lost in a cloud so far away, sitting in the next seat. Curt Cobain was screaming his heart out, “My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me, tell me where did you sleep last night…”. I saw a flickering flame at one end of the windshield.The hand-cart-vendor who sold Channa was pushing his cart against the wind.
* *Year 1998 * *
We were lying on the floor.
Staring at the ceiling fan, when its leaves cast a magical and kaleidoscopic imagery, in the faint tube-light.
That was the first time I had listened to Nirvana, 2nd year, in college.
“My girl, my girl…” and I felt a quaint uneasiness at the desperation of the voice.
He had explained to me about the grunge movement then.
* *Present * *
The cart reached the middle of the windscreen, and the flame was almost dying out. The man shielded it with his hand. There weren't many customers for him today, but he cant yet afford to go home.
* *Year 2002 * *
The crowds were beginning to disperse in the Juhu beach, and the hapless mules in their century old Marathi décor were calling it a day.
We sat on the edge of the beach, our buttocks occasionally wet by the brown colored seawater which glazed the sand like a mirror.
We were singing different songs, in no particular order or mood, whatever came to our mind.
“In the pines, in the pines where the sun don’t ever shine…”
That was when our voices reached the top of the crescendo and we screamed in delight, watched intently by the moon above.
* *Present * *
The rain had lessened again. The cart reached the other end of the windshield. The flame was still intact. And I think I caught a faint smile on the candle-lit face of the vendor. “I would shiveeeeeeeeeeeeeeer……”. Cobain’s voice died through the 360 Watts speakers behind me. I and R clapped alongwith the equally delirious crowd of the concert.
The small raindrops fell all over my body and felt like the tiny scintillating stars that filled a portion of the sky. The sea was roughing up in an intimidating fashion, trying to remind something, trying to scare away the few people who braved the drizzle and the waves, and were either chatting sweet nothings into their palms pressed against their cheeks, or holding someone’s hands and gazing ahead at the eternity that lay before them. The rain was thickening up. I got inside the car. R looked lost in a cloud so far away, sitting in the next seat. Curt Cobain was screaming his heart out, “My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me, tell me where did you sleep last night…”. I saw a flickering flame at one end of the windshield.The hand-cart-vendor who sold Channa was pushing his cart against the wind.
* *Year 1998 * *
We were lying on the floor.
Staring at the ceiling fan, when its leaves cast a magical and kaleidoscopic imagery, in the faint tube-light.
That was the first time I had listened to Nirvana, 2nd year, in college.
“My girl, my girl…” and I felt a quaint uneasiness at the desperation of the voice.
He had explained to me about the grunge movement then.
* *Present * *
The cart reached the middle of the windscreen, and the flame was almost dying out. The man shielded it with his hand. There weren't many customers for him today, but he cant yet afford to go home.
* *Year 2002 * *
The crowds were beginning to disperse in the Juhu beach, and the hapless mules in their century old Marathi décor were calling it a day.
We sat on the edge of the beach, our buttocks occasionally wet by the brown colored seawater which glazed the sand like a mirror.
We were singing different songs, in no particular order or mood, whatever came to our mind.
“In the pines, in the pines where the sun don’t ever shine…”
That was when our voices reached the top of the crescendo and we screamed in delight, watched intently by the moon above.
* *Present * *
The rain had lessened again. The cart reached the other end of the windshield. The flame was still intact. And I think I caught a faint smile on the candle-lit face of the vendor. “I would shiveeeeeeeeeeeeeeer……”. Cobain’s voice died through the 360 Watts speakers behind me. I and R clapped alongwith the equally delirious crowd of the concert.
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