dry

its not just words that i seem to have run out of. every now and then i think of what to do next, and whatever comes to mind feels like a repeat show. time is drenched in deja vu. in my stomach, a hunger gnaws its way out from within. for what? i dont know. like the elusive word on the tip of your tongue, i almost recognise it, then dont. and life goes on, endlessly eating its track in drunken circles.



otherwise, its just soothingly slow days. drenched in the sunshine, the sea and the mountain stars. and mountain mohitos. and lazy laughter.

every evening we go to the hotel, where my dad swims and we walk down to the sea. but before that we sit and yap over a drink or two, with the fingers of smoke trailing a dome over our heads. a hug and we part. the familiar, reassuring dad smell. india kings and whiskey and anteus. the 'coming home' smell. the 'safe now' smell. the 'just made it back behind the lines' smell.

2 down, its strangely mesmerising, watching the rythmn of the waves rising & running to the shore. behind me, the hajaar mountains stand in order of fading black. the sea is nestled between its outstretched arms. the sun a perfect bloody circle, balnace atop the horizon.

the mist makes the mountains fade to blue shadows in the distance; each row paler than the one before. much like most people. do we ever really know anyone?

i stand in the water. sometimes ankle deep, sometimes swelling to the waist. as all that foam breaks around me, i imagine it will tickle, but it just feels warm and soft. what would it be like to drown in that foam? would it hold. it looks so think but breaks so thin around my skin.

then i sit and look at the sun as it sinks. how brave; to drown so gracefully, gallantly, gloriously, every evening; to sit out the night, so patient and calm, knowing and believing that the day he threw away will give way to another ... equal and more. that this is not the end. just a restart. would i dare.

the sande feels grainy under my feet. it tuck my toes into it as it dances wetly between and around. i love the light and shadow, shiney and matt, the dancing light and the contrasts, of freshly wetting sand.

i could sit for hours staring at the waves like this. the silence soothingly sorrounds me; the wave songs dont break it, just underline it. my mind drifts and i think of nothing and everything. but mostly, i wonder, would i ever dare? every wave coming in teases me. each one is like an invitation. but when i am waist deep and the cold and dark plays in my mind, i panic and run away. so i am never born again.

at night, we sit on the old swing, the wood now bleached and faded, the eucalptus overhead, smells floating in the night air. the moon and the stars look different here. just like everywhere else. but here they seem almost more swollen, more yellow ... ripe, pregnant, tempting.

our talk meanders aimlessly from topic to the next. at our feet, rex pants as always. 2 small red circles swing in the dark. we kick ourselves in the air for one last go and go in for the night.

there's so much fire. and so much promise in the fire. and yet so much futility. as often before i remember the last line from a 1000 acres.

as the end approaches, i find myself shying back. i almost know what i want, but i would never dare to reach out and get it. and who knows how badly the singed hands would burn? who says we this is the age of female freedom? we have just exchanged one prison for another. once if you wanted, they looked at you in horror. now if you dont, ur as much a freak.

watched a lot of new movies in the annual catch-up-with-bollywood-a-thon: krish, my brother nikhil, corporate, golmaal, gangster ... gangster still haunts me. such a beautifully painted picture of a perfect love, a perfect guy, a perfect end ... or was it? life and fancies are so far apart. do we ever know what we want? i dont even try.

Originally Posted at Prerona.