The girl lifted her chin and gave me a frosty look. I tackled it with a look of calm dignity. I was simply dripping with the warm liquid of divine affection. I could see a quiet pleasure spreading across her face.
I am not my pure princely self until I’ve pottered about in the wash of new light. I feel a vague sense of emptiness and bereavement throughout the day, without a rigorous morning exertion of my muscles.
I write this to you filled with fond affection and gentle care. I am bent at my desk as I write, scribbling on my yellowish, moth-eaten paper. Ink welled up my nib and spilt over the page. My heart is frozen and my limbs feel heavy. I’m sprawled on my chair, brooding.
I left my thoughts unchecked and it reached deep into the dark, desolate den of despair. Soon enough my heart was wrung with grief. In the delusional freakishness of the youth I found myself abruptly sobered into sadness.
The lady broke into a grim penetrating laugh that made the tube lights crackle and windows rattle. Her eyes narrowed and ears slid backwards, like an evil ill-bred cat. Her tongue shot out and covered her chin.
I was slouching in my chair, sleepily tapping my feet on the floor and drumming my fingers on the table, when a hollow knocking sound startled me. I looked over my shoulder and fancied I saw a shadow flit past the window.
I have been deeply distressed, moody, and restless for the past few months. My life, which once was the hive of activity, with hum of vibrant people stirring up the spirits of soft youth, is now soundless and still, under the brooding clouds of sullen gloom.
Dusk was falling as Manjima ambled briskly out of the F&F bank into the warm cobbled pavement. She threaded through the bulk of people with an air of calm superiority. Her lips were tight, her jaw was firmly set, cheekbones high and pink, and her eyes had that look of steely determination that gave the bravest of men that met with it a sinking feeling.
The first sound in the morning was the cooing of the cuckoos on the coconut trees. The second was the mooing of the mad buffalo on the mossy field. I woke up with a sudden start, and sat bolt upright in my bed. It was as if I hadn’t slept at all. To my astonishment, the door was flung open and darkness entered and spilled into the floor.
the bony fingers, the clicking keys
swinging door, stale air, stiff clothes
the rattling teacups, the sailing trays
the still morning of the kitchen
the lights blinking blearily
the spoon falling with a ringing clatter
drapes vibrate with the trembling windows
the tomatoes roll down and splatter
My stomach rumbled as the steam of the momos made way from the food cart into my nose. My eyes, however, were fixed at the hot samosas, still exuding wisps of smoke. Right beside the samosas were crusty smashed potatoes, sloshed with yogurt, and stirred with chilly. The shopkeeper lifted the lid of the steamer and steam of thick cloud belched.
The guavas were drenched and dewdrops seemed to be trembling from them. The tree was moist and the leaves were dark green. One felt threatened watching it from below. As if the tree was trying to reach out and grab the house with its finger-like branches and wicked-faced leaves.
The golden rays of the sun showered into the vast muscles of mountains, steadily replacing the black shadows with a warm blanket of gold. I looked from the smoky glass on the plane as the Earth suddenly sprang to life. “It’s time,” said the pilot with a commanding voice. And I lifted up from my seat. My back was stone. “You ready, bro?” said the guide, I shook my head nervously. “You don’t look so!” I shook my head with determination sparkling from my eyes.
The village was desolate, with no signs of life. A small stream of water was running on my left, making a gurgling sound. I craned my neck and scanned around. Trees, fields, heaps of rubbles, deserted houses, remains of houses. After observing for a minute, my eyes rested on a mound of red mud which I believed is a traditional Satar house. I followed the path in my quest to see signs of civilization.