Skip to main content

High & Dry

The two usual suspects sat slumped at a corner table. The repose that hung around as they occasionally sipped beer and spoke suggested this was a routine event. The truth, however, was far more painful. Professional ambitions, personal realisations and other matters had conspired to put about 4 months and 1000 kilometres between their pub sessions. The casualness had been replaced by a sense of occasion, which was irksome, but somewhat ignorable.

The music was not. They'd come to this particular pub because the beer was good and the music, mostly rock, was what they needed. But they were no longer regulars, so neither could understand when the place had decided to turn into a country-western stall. One of the guys even predicted the entry of some bloke in a 10 gallon hat, which would probably not have raised a murmur. Nobody of the type showed, thankfully. There was only so much a cold brew could stave off.

What was also odd was the theme of the conversation. It had been a year to the day since the last bag had been packed and the flight taken. One would think a year would be enough for time to move on from past obstacles, old doubts and repeated experiences. Apparently, it was not. At some level, that amused both of them, but it asked a lot of nagging questions to a couple of very exhausted men. So they continued to talk, dissect why neither could write worth a damn any more, make plans & resolutions, bob heads in time to the music and stare off into the distance, comfortable in the moment. For the ghost of an instant, it was like 2010 had never happened.

Song for the moment: Roll me away - Bob Seger     

Comments

k said…
Ah, what you wrote there is just how it happens with age and years. Beautiful post. Could really associate with it.
Anonymous said…
@Kedar - Thanks man.

@Nik - Thanks & welcome to the blog

Popular posts from this blog

Everlong

In the greater scheme of things, 3 years probably means very little. When you find yourself mentally rewinding through the last 3 years however, perhaps the burden of time hangs heavier. Why has this come up ? Not being around for the last 3 monsoon seasons, I'd almost forgotten why we're obsessed with the rains. Those who care enough have a check list of things to experience, gleefully cross off items one by one. Gastronomically, there's a bounty of items that's tied to our memories of rain. मक्का, चाय, भजिया, पकोडे, समोसे, दोसा-साम्बार ... the list of steaming hot tangy & spicy food that seduces the palate through the length & breath of India in the rain is quite likely endless. If you are from Pune however, there's something you may just have experienced in your teens and college years. And are quite likely hankering for now, as you stare at the glinting droplets of water, the gentle roar of rain and the emerald newness of the leaves. I refer to biking in...

Fortune of the night

So there you are, pleasantly buzzed.The crowd mills around you & there's a feeling of mild claustrophobia in the air. You can feel cold beads of sweat meandering ever so slowly down your spine & your heart is pounding. You are not quite sure why but your eyes rake the room, searching anxiously. Then, you see her. And just like that, time stops or slows down to do a waltz in time to your heartbeats. You can't explain it but there's a funny, compressed exaltation in the pit of your stomach. All you are doing is watching her. She slides a lock of her hair behind her ear & the simplicity of the gesture thrills you. She is unaware of your eyes, that you are watching, that every particle of your being depends on living just that movement. She smiles... And you realize you are in love. Song for the moment: 9 Crimes - Damien Rice

Release the Beast

I capitulated and switched on the aircon for a bit last night. Assuming you’re alive and reading this, I can sense the frisson of quizzical wonder—what’s capitulating got to do with it? If I’m feeling the heat, I ought to disperse it with the appliance specifically meant to do that. Simple, right? Maybe not. Something in me rebels at the idea of using the AC in March. To be fair, I’ve been thinking about it since February , so yeah, the climate is definitely fucked and will only get worse year on year. Pune winters are already a distant memory , so the idea of holding out is at best an exercise in building resistance , at worst, delusional. As far as I can recall, the heat ratchets up around or after Holi. That was yesterday, so perhaps my resistance was subconscious. Psychobabble aside, I need to get this off my chest— I don’t understand Holi . Sure, I understand the traditional and cultural significance and whatnot, but man, for adults, the celebration should ...