That happens sometimes. You just let the music play and slowly you can hear the songs stretch themselves all around your head and lazily dip into your ears and then float away, creating the tiniest of ripples in the air around you.
The more I live, the more I realise that I am sum of other people’s experiences and tastes. My father gave me my love for well-made omlettes and fresh, crusty bread. My mother gave me my taste for besan ki chakki and tayeer sadam and drumsticks drenched in rasam. My mother’s father gave me my love for poha and sev and my dad’s mother gave me my love for gatte ki sabji.
Scoobs introduced me to the wonder that is a pork dumpling and Golu was the one who taught me how one appreciates a chilly chicken and biryani.
There are many more, too many to name. And so I think about them and I wonder what it is that has made me or you or you and I wonder some more. And the smell of a good gin fills my nose and I take a sniff and the spices hit me once again and I twirl the glass in my hand a couple of times before taking the first, delicate sip.
I desperately hope that I shall never fail to be fascinated by words. They are all the more interesting when you see them being built right before you. Brick by brick. Its a pretty beautiful sight.
Which reminds me that buildings tend to sneak up on you. One minute, its just an empty lot and then all of a sudden you have this big, gleaming, glassy monster staring back at you. You would think that something so big would find it hard to sneak around but goddamit man, these building chaps have pretty much perfected the art.
The air is nicer here you know, the nights are more silent. The thoughts can be slowly mulled over, a nice scotch being rolled around in your mouth. Unlike the flaming shots of Bombay which need to be gulped quickly so that you can feel the fire running into your belly.
I suppose we learn who we are one day at a time. There is no point in going too fast, you might miss an entire page.