Friday, April 24, 2009

Look differently

I like to look at the world all the time. I think I would have liked to be some bird sitting atop some wire crossing my city Mumbai. I would have preferred to be in no hurry as such and look lazily at everyone down there rushing here or there.

On my way back home I take a taxi everyday from my office to a railway station. I like the ride and the time I get to myself very much. I like it when the taxi moves slowly and is stuck in traffic for some time. I like it even better when it gets stuck just opposite a book vendor with his shop on the footpath. His stock very up to date; duplicate books, most recent ones.

Then the taxi passes a hukka shop. In the middle of Mumbai I am not sure who looks at the shop full of hukkas every day. The lane is not a tourist frequented lane at all. Through the glass walls of the shop I always admire the arty looking glass work. There is blue, green glass making the wooden brown of the hukka look like some piece which would fit as a piece in the collection of a museum.

My taxi drop's me near a bus-stop every day. I cross the road and enter the railway station from there. I look at the bus stop to see who is waiting for the bus. I don't expect any known face to be standing here, I don't know where the bus goes. I like to look. Yesterday, I looked and my heart missed a beat.

On the iron rod of the bus-stand people usually rest their backs and stand. Two small hands held each other and stood there with their heads almost touching the ground. They were hanging like bats do on the same rod, where people stood waiting for the bus. I almost yelled out to them to be careful; when they swung on the rod and were hanging with their heads up now.

They were doing these circles , hands held tight, smoothly like some trained acrobats. Where people stood; on their feet, the two hung on looking at the ground for sometime and then going in a circle and again hanging there looking at the bus-stop from a different angle all together.




1 comments:

Saibal Barman said...

The time is a fine sequence of a few finite pearls of moments entrapped in long infinite strings of suspense....It seeks for a meaning in its reflection upon a soul that cares neither the pearls nor the strings, but the beauty in its creative presence....
That's so innocent and angelic; and, so are the kids!
Wish the world were less learned like those little wonders !
I admire the way it all touched you.
Regards,