The Look of Love
Sitting on a park bench at 2 in the night, without any comforter, embracing the winter chill, sleep betrays me. Cacophony of the marketplace, bargaining matches between the vendor/vegetable seller and buyer, hustling amongst men and women for the auto line, Hindi songs playing at a barber shop. I can hear it all at 2 in the night. I can see it all at 2 in the night. Shooting right across the park bench is a pond, overlooking which there is a streetlight - my only source of warmth, it everglows. Bees, moths, insects all making a nursery beneath the light - the sun for them - mere creation for us, thank you Edison. My mind is in a haze after looking at the light continuously, foxed. There's an opening, my chance to sneak in, in the rays. It is nothing but a Time Machine, no fancy tech needed at all, or a secret chamber. Transporting me 16/17 years back to the love of my life. The look of love in my 'Hit me'. 'Where are you at, today?', I wonder. I wake up a...