A Seductive Evening

It takes more than normal time to come out of a warm quilt when it’s the month of January. It is holiday day today on account of the happy birthday of a Muslim prophet. I wish I could know something about the Mohammed whose birth day is giving a day to rest and stay under quilt in the winter. I visualize him in some Mecca or some imaginary holy Islamic place. People say I imagine a lot. Nobody can stop his/her head from imagining the things.

I rise up as I’ve already slept for three hours and I can’t stay in bed for long and I rarely sleep for more than an hour in after noon. I feel the room cold as if my body has dived into a cold sea and fish into the heap of cloths for my heavy jacket. As soon I find it slip it on me quickly as if the cold would bite and tear my muscles into pieces.

Next step is to make tea. Tea looks sexy and intoxicating in winter. Isn’t it?

To make tea, you need to wash the cup that you’ve used to drink last tea and then tea pan needs to be washed. I put the cup in sink and pour some water into it so that it’s dry bottom of the tea that is left after last sip can melt and it’s easy to wash then.

The gas stove is on and supplying blue flame to the bottom of the tea pan which I fill with some water, some tea leaves and one teaspoon sugar. It takes some time to boil and then I add some milk into it to give it a nice color and taste.

I can’t stay standing in the kitchen, staring at the boiling mixture so I go out to balcony to see the world around me.

  The day is still and calm. I see some sun rays falling on the other side of the road at the open area which is generally used for parking cars. It’s a holiday but still I can’t see the place crowded with cars like every day.

I stand in the sun, which burning into white and when I look at it my eyes resist and can see only the orange envelope around it. I try to look into the sun but it’s still burning and trying to show it is superior to me. I'm habitual of looking into sun since I was a kid and the people around me would say you can’t stare at it or you shouldn’t. I took it as a challenge then and tried it many times until I got shifted to the metro city.

All good feelings and love for the nature die when you come to an urban place. And those who are born here are inhabitants, who look strange to me because I fail to understand the way they live their life. They wake up late in the morning. They try their best to earn more and more money. One thing that I strongly hate about them; the way they celebrate their parties in disco or pub or bar. I can’t imagine some people sitting, dancing, drinking wines and shouting in a room which is equipped with some musical equipment. This is the way people enjoy here!

The sun is warming my body that I can touch the full sleeve of my shirt and feel the warmth.

The trees are standing, lifeless. There is no wind and so their leaves can’t shake. They’re standing as if they want to stand without making any movement. It happens during summer when the atmosphere lacks air. Or as if their work is to stand and let the world see their disciplines.

Before me stand a series of street lamp poles in a row with a black cable connecting then with each other. Two lamps, sitting on each pole stare the ground as if they are trying to find something or they are trying to inspect like cops. Rarely, some cars come at speed slower than usually cars ram there and pass away, leaving behind some engine voice to die soon.

I see four black pigeons sitting on a cable that is connecting two poles. They twist their heads all around that makes the cable shake little. One of them gets bored with sitting on the same line so it flies to the other which is a pack of six black cables twisting together as if snakes have curled themselves to show unity. The other pigeons welcome him with a nod. After seeing the warmth welcome other three can’t resist themselves and flew to join their neighbor.

Everything looks lazy. One sardarji emerged out of a hut and begins bhrooming the ground before his hut. He looks slow. I look to the other side and find a tree that sheds its leaves in winter only. It looked like a naked beautiful girl with a curvaceous slim body with round healthy bosoms and long hair which is open and spreading all around her body.

I hear some birds chirping in the trees of a nearby park that is separated from my home by a small old government office. I'm listening to them after long. It’s been years, I guess. I go to park every morning and I find birds singing there but I fail to enjoy it. Many other things roam inside my head when I jog. I feel bad.

I look into sky when I hear some sound of an airplane passing over my head. I try to trace the plane but fail. May be the dense fog has gulped it. The milky blue sky looks beautiful. It was missing or I was missing it. I drink the view as if my heart and eyes were thirty for it since years. A white car arrives, posche this time with music at full volume. It forces me to look at it. I find it same as other cars like Mercedes, BMW, Ford etc. which are passing by. It looks as a dead body, getting dragged on some fuel.

I hope the tea would be ready.

I break my connection with the nature, the silent after noon turning into evening, the blue sky, the orange sun, the green trees, the naked tree, the people walking by, the cars and everything and walk straight towards the main gate.

Before the main gate I find a heap of white sand that has been kept there for the two weeks and it is blocking more than half of our entrance so we have to use another gate when we need to park our vehicles.

I don’t miss a chance to walk on sand when I find it anywhere. The dogs have played with it and have spread all around. The color of sand looks similar to that of the day. Milky and foggy.

I smash sand under my feet that spread and let my feet sink into it. Some of it slips between my feet and slippers. I had developed a technique to get rid of the sand from my feet when I was a kid and used to walk down the river bank which was covered with white ret. I repeat my technique but stop myself soon as I find it nice under my feet and move inside my compound.

A dog is sitting, curling it body into a circular thing on the dry leaves that the naked tree has shed. It blinks its black dark eyes at me and closes them without moving. I push the heavy wooden door that opens into stairs that goes to first floor where I live. It gets closed on its own with a creaking sound that reminds me of horror movie in which doors always get shut by themselves with this peculiar scary sound.