Voices

Raindrops glistened like little silver needles, caught in the flash of a lightning bolt, prepared to strike down an unseen enemy in eerie orange glow of sodium vapor lamps. The rain was different, neither hard nor light, firmly placed in the nondescript middle, lacking in character; however the nascent night was another matter altogether. The incessant symphony of raindrops were the only indication of their existence as I threaded the alleyways soaking in darkness with an ease that comes from years of familiarity. A sad darkness diluted by stray lights, little stragglers that refused to be cowered; and unloved by the denizens of the city, an unwelcome pause in their perpetual motions of their lives. My blazing red jumper and thick grey woolen cap embellished with intricate warli motifs (the stick figures that stereotype Indian art, if you're unfamiliar) would have robbed me of my undisturbed solitude if not for the welcome blanket of darkness. The stillness outside with the ...

If you ignore for a moment the tension in your calves, the creaking from your knees and the aching in your feet, you can imagine that the world is flowing around you when you walk. The colors of life tumbling and gushing, you a small pebble in the middle of an unstoppable and iridescent torrent; that is if you can conveniently ignore the existence of half of your body. That is how I felt when we walked, held in a bubble of words exchanged without a care, scattered in the wind like lilies, not meaningless nevertheless. She was an old friend, a young soul who talked, for that matter so did I, two pebbles in an ocean masquerading as a river, meeting by chance. Occasionally there would be a spectacular ripple like a young couple in love or a few beggars washing over us, pulling and tugging our conversation along, a random bump on the conversation bubble. Often we would sit on benches skirting the road, observing the din and bustle around us. Somehow the noise rendered itself nois...