peaks
One Monday morning I strolled into The Hive in Bandra and winged this entire schedule. Generally I keep a sketch ready. But not having a sketch with a tight schedule forces you into fresh ideas.
Song: ‘Fresh Air’ - Aart van Bergen Sextet
Drenched in vile liquor
Drowned in fiefdom
He patters on the footpath.
I walk pass him quickly,
Thinking – a trampled man should be left alone.Kya maal,
His words slap me
Like an icy gust of wind
His spine rises, face contorts
And suddenly, he is not the man I think he is.From the footpath
Through the underpass
I run to the lights
Into the view of thousand eyes.
And he follows, with intent, with arms in the air.Aaja, aaja,
Kya jalwa hai,
Dikhata hoon,
Main sikhata hoon tujhe,
Bade jigarwale aadmi se kahan bhagti hai…I cross the street,
Right and left,
Again and again,
My heart thumping, feet rushing,
Brain incisive, plotting, for a car to run over him.Fear transmits itself
Without touch
Through blind spots,
Through the wind
And I feel his hand on my dupatta.I run into the cars
Into the road
My hand, a flag
My face, a message
A taxi driver finally stops to take me home.