A colleague through a discussion reminded me of the creative writing classes I took ...seemingly eons ago. I thought of putting up some of the old stuff. We were taken to the backyard of BCL - (Charbagh) and asked to observe the place and describe it using any of the 5 senses. This is wat I did. Thanks Praveen for reminding of days I so enjoyed and Preeti for the pretty feet picture from Calcutta!
Charbagh- from inside out
I watched, and it failed to enchant. The murky watered pool, red and grey stoned walls feel strangely sterile, the life or its ebbing out - lies outside. I saw myself lying on my back on the columned and paved path. Gazing at the late evening sky, hoping to spot another wishful twinkle, which could have been a star. Fluorescent office lives dimming one after the other. Flick, there goes one switch, a patch of black amidst the overworked whites. Flick, another and soon the floor would be dark. I lie with a high rise clouding my vision and ceilings of smoke where clouds should have been.
I heard, sounds akin to the 1st day of practice of an exceptionally atonal choir. Can the individually gifted be so giftless as a collective? The seasoned bass of a rumbling Ambassador, unable to mute the aggressively drilling descant brakes of the pre pubescent Green DTC. The tinkling bells of cycling sopranos, laughing at madness of the days tottering edge. I long to catch strains of the altos - those that bring me such grounded peace. The altos i.e. the sound of feet.