Sultry Stains.
" Sultry Stains
Thursday, June 15, 2006 ||
2:34 PM ||
Its 5.30 in the morning when we reach Baroda. The place is already bustling with activity and a couple of hours later, I venture out of my hotel room and decide to take a walk around. It seems implausible that the ancient town was writhing under a spate of events that had left blood stains all over, barely a couple of weeks ago. I look around for traces of abhorrence and hatred in the faces that brush past me. A few wayward glances at my kurta that proclaims an Om, make me overtly nervous. The day wears on and I meet up a few friends, who whisper to me about them and us, as we dig into gulab-jamuns with a vengeance. A merry baaraath is all song and dance, and crackers hurriedly burst amidst giggles and guffaws, as the beaming dulha gets down from a decked steed.
The sun is defiant even at seven thirty in the evening, and refuses to call it a day. Nothing makes sense to me any more as sordid tales of repugnance lie brooding amidst the paper scraps that are blown across the street by a fierce gust of wind. It is dreadfully hot and I feel messy with sweat dribbling down all over me. The air turns pungent with the smell of Pav Bhaji, as the night sets in, and I hear noises in my head as the creaky auto rickshaws race past me indifferently. Jasmine vendors are busy on the pavements, and a boy of about four, tugs at my trousers, till I hand him a rupee. I look around the flash of lights flooding me all around, and settle down on the sidewalk, all mysitfied.
Could this city kill?
The sun is defiant even at seven thirty in the evening, and refuses to call it a day. Nothing makes sense to me any more as sordid tales of repugnance lie brooding amidst the paper scraps that are blown across the street by a fierce gust of wind. It is dreadfully hot and I feel messy with sweat dribbling down all over me. The air turns pungent with the smell of Pav Bhaji, as the night sets in, and I hear noises in my head as the creaky auto rickshaws race past me indifferently. Jasmine vendors are busy on the pavements, and a boy of about four, tugs at my trousers, till I hand him a rupee. I look around the flash of lights flooding me all around, and settle down on the sidewalk, all mysitfied.