Livinghigh: Glitter
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Livinghigh was here at 8:39 PM /


There's something about a city at night. Something blinking, winking, staring, silent, scrupulous, notorious that I simply can't get enough of. Vignettes. From the twenty-first floor, I see the city skyline. Towers outlined in yellow twinkles. Roads teeming with reds and whites and blues, something you would expect to see in an ad on TV. It all seems so cliched. Seems so terribly beautiful. If I were to jump, I would die. I remain, standing, feeling, breeze ruffles hair, cools skin, and I yawn. Lazy Sunday evening. What else can I ask for?

Lazy Saturday night. Life seemed dull an hour ago. There are no plans, no dances, no bars planned, no vodka bottles, no beer, no nothing. There's an open book, 800-odd pages to finish, consume, devour, fornicate over. The window behind my head is open, second floor. Quiet city beyond, quiet compound, huge trees, I can hear voices coming from the flat next door. Wailing child, scolding mother, and the vendor down below who comes selling snacks. I'm reading my book, resting against the window, straddling the seat, feeling cool wind against bare back. A part of the city that reminds me of cool, quiet Calcutta, gone to sleep by six. Terribly rested. I feel terribly rested.

Where's a bar when you need one?

But I have fireworks instead. And the lazy trek of a blip of light in the dark sky - move along, little airplane, move along, there are deadlines to keep, timelines to breach, people to ferry, borders to cross. For now, it is content to shuffle slowly across the dark sky, a tiny blip of light in an empty sky, ranged with the city's lights.

But I have fireworks instead.

Damn. This is just in: NDTV just flashed it: There have been bomb blasts in Delhi's Liberty and Satyam movie halls. Scary. Because Satyam is in the neighbourhood I used to live, while in Delhi, and I spent lots of afternoons in that hall. Scary, yes. Cuz it's all because of a flop film called Jo Bole So Nihaal. Stupid, stupid people!


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