Deja Vu

It was quite a better evening than he was used to this summer. The weather was pleasing, she had sent a bunch of his favorite white roses, the watchmen had saluted him in the morning, they had repainted his cabin to a fresh yellow and the last meeting of the day got cancelled. He drove out of the parking, received by a hoard of black clouds. The most painful signal of his drive was green and welcomed him to a smooth pass. There was something with the world today, he could sense it, a conspiracy.

He put on the car stereo and called her up. She would be on the local train at this point of hour. This was their way of spending some additional quality time together – listening to music together while traveling separately. Starting with Eagles, moving to Bob Dylan, then to Guns n Roses, then Floyd, then to Mohit Chauhan, the playlist was one of the very few they would enjoy. The choice of playlist would tell her what kind of mood he was in. He could always imagine her reaction to the choice and the expression that would have come out when the first song started. It was like having a wonderful conversation everyday without seeing each other, without even talking; only that there were just a handful of such conversations to choose from, just as many as the playlists. But today he played Deep Purple.

She texted. ‘Is everything ok?? Reply only when the signal is red.’

‘I love you!’

‘Even I love you sweetheart! But tell me, is everything alright?’

‘How much time it would take you to reach?’

Beatles.

’15 mins. Why don’t you tell me what has happened?’

‘See you at the bench near the coffee wala.’

Black Sabbath and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan did the honours before he took the ticket from the parking boy. As he started walking towards Central Park, it started pouring heavily. People rushed out of the park from all possible exits. As if the stage had been vacated for the big performance to begin. He continued to walk till he reached the bench. Even the coffee wala was nowhere to be seen. His vibrant blue shirt amongst the shining green grass towered by dark clouds sprinkling shining droplets – an amazing romance of colours. He spread his arms wide and looked straight up in the skies. There was a strong thunder, acknowledging his arrival. He closed his eyes, his eyelids also getting a chance to bath themselves in those moments of magic. He was drenched and using those wet eyelids as a big screen, he started remembering the beautiful snapshots of his life. There was a smile on his face that said it all. He put his earphones back. The call had not ended and he knew that.

‘You there Anjali?’

‘Turn around Vikram’

That beautiful face in a bright yellow suit. She completed the jigsaw so gracefully. His arms closed around her. They stood there for a minute and a half – smiling radiantly – until she made his arms spread out once again. She played Robert Miles on her phone and moved behind him, her arms over his arms, her palms over his palms. They could sense the unity of their souls – that were dancing to the same music, the same rhythm. Their eyes were closed and remained so until the song ended. There was a sudden end to the rain, as if it had completed her part. The clouds drifted apart, there was sunshine and a dazzling rainbow. She removed their earphones, came in front of him and sat on one knee.

‘Would you marry me Vikram?’

He smiled. ‘Again?’

Shining Dove

He was white, his wings even whiter. The world around looked different, different colours, different shades. He went to the pond, looked at himself, smiled, looked at the sun, frowned, moved towards the town, saw a cage in the market, it was shining, looked at the sun again, then at the the cage, stepped inside, put the latch, started dancing. The owner, took the cage, went to the pond, drank water, saw his cage in it, smiled. He, in the cage, never looked at the sun, never stopped to dance, never smiled, again.

Searching the Moon

He was walking on the beach.
On his left side were people, noise, cries of vendors selling cutlets and cold drinks, colourful balloon sellers, newspaper walas, day long waste of wrappers,plastic bags and newspapers, swings with children dancing around them, couples holding hands, dogs looking at the people around and the food they are eating, people sitting facing the beach and the sun.
The right side had just the sea and the setting sun. The waves, the occasional tide, the breeze, the hues of orange, the silhouettes of birds flying around, the hint of distant grey clouds.
The left, the range of colour. The right, the lack of it.
The left, full of life. The right, glorifying life.
He looked at both the sides, one by one, kept moving between them.
It started getting dark. The colours started saying goodbye. People started moving away too. It was just the sea and the land. The right still had the waves, now making noise. The left had the wail of the dogs and a few couples, sitting more closely, searching the moon.
He was still in between and kept on moving, looking at the sky, both left and right, searching the moon.

White Magic

It was an island, a very small one. He could barely move on it. He couldn’t remember how he reached here. He felt so lonely. Tears started flowing, his eyes started becoming red. The water was silent. There was no life around. The distant trees surrounding the water varied from brown to white but no green. The sun was shining from two sides, from the sky and the dormant water. The lower one was pinching his eyes. He closed them.
He stayed like that for quite some time, some hours. He opened his eyes. White light had replaced the yellow one. The moon took its positions exactly where the sun was, the lower one was soothing him now. The water started moving, the air started turning into a slow breeze, he could see traces of clouds too. There was a glimpse of a pair of milky white swans in the water, moving together, seemingly hand in hand. He put his right hand in the water and gave a push, a musical note of a water ripple filled his ears. He took some of the sparkling water in his hands and slowly poured it on his dry face. His face glowed, glowed in the glory of the moonlight. The clouds started showering white pearls, ever so slowly, ever so lightly. Everything around seemed to start creating music, the water, the swans, the breeze, the drizzle, his hands, his breath. He started to sing, sing something which he himself had never heard but it was coming out, full of passion, full of life. The light became brighter, the swans increased in number, there was a flock of white birds which came and sat near him, listening to the magic, the distant trees now seemed to have grown leaves, all of white.
It was still an island, a very small one. But there was so much life around.

Decolouring Colours

He woke up and was startled. Milky white light all around, scent of roses encircled him, he started walking. Everything which he could see had turned into white, the trees, the buildings, the roads, the sky. He was alone but not lonely. The complete scene had a mystical effect. He started walking. There was a sound of thunder far away from somewhere, heavy clouds seemend nearby. Suddenly the sky started getting covered up with pink clouds. It started raining, milky pink drops , the scene started changing colours, the white gave way to pink. Winds started blowing too, they were not colourless this time, shades of green, scattered , colouring the drawing book green. The colours started intermingling to give birth to newer ones, the world he remembered, started getting back. Slowly the light started fading.
It was time for black. It was night again.