Saturday, November 14, 2015
Walking through Lavelle Road, Bangalore
Lavelle Road: Aloneness brims, the way back is overgrown. A seed has become a forest as dense as the words choking my throat. Here the city exists not as a scattered physical conglomeration of things but as an abstraction of imagined, unlived memories, heart-tugs and subtle sadness. A kindly, lambent entity of idle benevolence. The air was like a bite into a ripe quince. September – the month of post-card clouds, sleepy trees and sky filtering through a million dragon-fly wings. One could feel the quiescence pooling in the mouth, a rippling light weaving in and out between fingers.
I am wavering. The space between each shivery breath is so vast, it can consume heavens. Undulation after undulation, I am disappearing within until a blue unbrokeness remain.