Only a weak strain of light shimmers in the backdrop. The tides raise their pitch. It disturbs her. I cover her up with the quilt a little more as the evening sets in.
A Nostalgic Dream
Taking not one stop past Nilgiris, we had left the old Mumbai road far behind as if a distant memory. The breeze from Arabian sea pacified the moist and sweet summer through the silk curtains in the dark room as the wind blew over my face while I lay in my bed, a sweet lullaby to my ears.
I think I overslept for she was nowhere near to be found. Stepping out towards the porch, over the steep cliff I could hear the maestros playing by the palm trees cast in the backdrop. I take it to be somewhat of a grand function organized by our gracious hosts for their private amusement who had been kind enough to leave us undisturbed for our own little honeymoon.
An exhilarating feeling, as I took a deep breath, amazed by a life of contrasts. Here and there.
“Here, I have no concerns for tomorrow will be just like today” I said to myself.
Unlike the bustling streets, the unforgiving traffic and hyper metros of Mumbai, what lay before me were beautiful palm trees, white sands glittering like diamonds for sale and a beautiful woman behind me bringing something very familiar she had found earlier in the morning, in her hands.
“The breeze never stops does it, here?” I asked her.
“And its always that sweet smell from this porch. It’s beautiful.” She said as she crossed her arms around my arm.
I remember her words so vividly. Her eyebrows arched up as she raised her head, eyes pointing at me, hair flowing with no destination in mind.
“Was it you humming in the washroom?” I asked her slyly.
She nodded, handing me a fresh cup of coffee handpicked from the garden of our very own little guest house, then doing her hair with her hands. At every step, I glance her with a different perspective.
(To be Contd.)
The Official Diary 