Snapshot 37
It was late afternoon. Everything was orange; his favourite time of day.
He saw her sitting on the opposite side. She was reading a thick novel, she was somewhere in the middle of the story. He only looked up because of the beautiful gothic images on the cover of the book. While he was wondering how to get a closer look, she looked up sharply over the top of her thin glasses. He smiled and retreated gracefully. I'll wait a bit, he thought.
37 minutes later, she had flipped through 3 pages and he had gone through two and a half cigarettes. He sighed and stood up. He'd better catch the next bus, he thought - dentist appointments do expire, eventually.
"Do you dream in colour?"
His heart skipped a beat at the suddenness of the question and the sensuousness of the voice.
23 minutes later, they were on a bench in Regent's Park, the book now in the surprised hands of a homeless person on Marylebone road, and ice-creams bought on the way in the only marginally cleaner hands of two wide-eyed children running after a dirty football.
"I usually read much faster, you know"
"I haven't smoked in six months".
She smiled and bowed her head slightly. Her brown hair fell over her face and she made no attempt to put it back in place. Then, suddenly, without warning, she tossed her head back and stood up. She kicked off her shoes and stepped lightly onto the grass, throwing the jacket she held in her arms onto the small white signboard saying "Do not walk on the grass".
She grinned, he shook his head.
She sought out and stepped on the dry leaves that had fallen from the trees, hopping athletically from one to the other. It didn't take long for 3 boisterous 6-year olds to join her and she was soon teaching them how to land on the leaves so they make the loudest crunching noises.
He started checking his pockets for the cigarettes he had bought at the bus stop. He looked up as he put one to his lips and was amused to see her striding purposefully towards the pond. She stopped at the edge, turned around, and raised her eyebrows at the gaping 6-year-olds. Then, to the utter shock of the adults casually observing the scene, the utter glee of the kids, and the utter indignation of the ducks, she walked straight in.
She splashing, the ducks flapping and protesting, the children screaming and the orange glow of the setting sun...it's not like something you'd get to see everyday, he thought. In fact, it looks rather like a...
"It's not in the colour, it's in the intensity of detail", he said.
"What?", she yelled through the cacophony, before proceeding to get more of her clothes wet and dragging one of the kids in with her. 6-year-old, 20-something-year old woman and ducks - all splashing around happily, chasing and being chased.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
37 years seemed so long.
^
He saw her sitting on the opposite side. She was reading a thick novel, she was somewhere in the middle of the story. He only looked up because of the beautiful gothic images on the cover of the book. While he was wondering how to get a closer look, she looked up sharply over the top of her thin glasses. He smiled and retreated gracefully. I'll wait a bit, he thought.
37 minutes later, she had flipped through 3 pages and he had gone through two and a half cigarettes. He sighed and stood up. He'd better catch the next bus, he thought - dentist appointments do expire, eventually.
"Do you dream in colour?"
His heart skipped a beat at the suddenness of the question and the sensuousness of the voice.
23 minutes later, they were on a bench in Regent's Park, the book now in the surprised hands of a homeless person on Marylebone road, and ice-creams bought on the way in the only marginally cleaner hands of two wide-eyed children running after a dirty football.
"I usually read much faster, you know"
"I haven't smoked in six months".
She smiled and bowed her head slightly. Her brown hair fell over her face and she made no attempt to put it back in place. Then, suddenly, without warning, she tossed her head back and stood up. She kicked off her shoes and stepped lightly onto the grass, throwing the jacket she held in her arms onto the small white signboard saying "Do not walk on the grass".
She grinned, he shook his head.
She sought out and stepped on the dry leaves that had fallen from the trees, hopping athletically from one to the other. It didn't take long for 3 boisterous 6-year olds to join her and she was soon teaching them how to land on the leaves so they make the loudest crunching noises.
He started checking his pockets for the cigarettes he had bought at the bus stop. He looked up as he put one to his lips and was amused to see her striding purposefully towards the pond. She stopped at the edge, turned around, and raised her eyebrows at the gaping 6-year-olds. Then, to the utter shock of the adults casually observing the scene, the utter glee of the kids, and the utter indignation of the ducks, she walked straight in.
She splashing, the ducks flapping and protesting, the children screaming and the orange glow of the setting sun...it's not like something you'd get to see everyday, he thought. In fact, it looks rather like a...
"It's not in the colour, it's in the intensity of detail", he said.
"What?", she yelled through the cacophony, before proceeding to get more of her clothes wet and dragging one of the kids in with her. 6-year-old, 20-something-year old woman and ducks - all splashing around happily, chasing and being chased.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
37 years seemed so long.
^
spouted by Non-Sensei at 2/23/2006 10:21:00 PM
13 Comments:
you know its easy to be dream in colours, splash in the pool with ducks, buy icecream for kids playing football. all of us do that randomly. but tell me , do you have a sound formula for the everyday routine?
when there are no crunchy autumn leaves and when one cannot sit around and read fat novels.
if the post below is meant to be a poem, then nice poem:)
nonick
nice re...!!
ill be damned if i can make out the meaning .... but then, im damned anyways ;-)
who be this 20 something water walking chick??
@nonick : good for you, if you are able to do this stuff randomly. dreams are where it's at, i think. sometimes, we all need to be sold some fantasy. no, i don't have a sound formula.
and thank you. :-)
@obscured : thanks re. :-)
@adi : each one of us has met her at some point...or wants to meet her! ;-)
"It's not in the colour, it's in the intensity of detail", he said.
God-mode, it's called. A-fuckin-mazing. Period. :-)
good one
Very nice. I'm aware of the effect of the color orange. Super writing enness. This is a potential short film dontcha think?
@AC: thanks man. :-)
@succu : aww, Im sure it'll get better re. I'll save some biryani for you... :-)
@hutumpancha : thank you.
@manu : thanks. hmm, short film eh?
hmmm
sigh...i'm sure u know all the hues of the color of that sigh :-)
NS i am "her" ( tell Adi that ;P) .... dam u keep evolving as a blogger! Nice one !
Bhav
very well written! yeh i think we have all met her at a point of time or will!
keep up!
fabulous
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