The minute hand’s completing its circle and will soon call out 7 pm. And yet, a light drizzle plays in the foreground of a muted yellow and pink twilight. The day’s not over yet, it wants to tell me. I’m still hanging around. It’s not the end of me yet.
Night is gentler, stealthier. She tip-toes over, twirling her gracefully long fingers, turning a blue sky to a crimson sunset to a royal purple twilight, to end in the final composition of an indigo sky with a smattering of stars. These days, in the monsoon, one doesn’t see a blue sky at all. It’s grey all the time, which softly gets deeper in shades to go to a duskier black but no one notices that. Today, though, the day wants to be king. Night’s waiting patiently, probably making it rain a bit more forcefully to give her guest hints that he’s overstayed his welcome.
I love the rains. Everything in this concrete island city’s greener, more vibrant and bursting with life rather than parched in the summer and dusty in the winter.
I’ve just finished the newest installment of 44 Scotland St. Yes, I know I’d been cribbing about not having it when I realized that there are bookstores other than Crossword who have a more updated stock of books. I grabbed the last copy of The World According to Bertie and as I finished the book felt as I felt during all the previous times when I’d put the book down finally, immense and utter contentment and a new perspective to my life that, just last night, seemed drab and uninteresting. Scotland St not only involves me in its inhabitants and all those associated with them, but it enriches my own. I get introspective and realize how wonderful it is to be alive. And what million little things happen around us everyday and how we must store as many of its memories we can hoard, to make another rich volume of the story of our lives.
Sighs!
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