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Amazed at all that our little eyes can show us, I stood behind the boulders. The sight of noisy waves from the crevices made me once again go in awe of the power that salty water droplets as a team are capable of exercising on the senses. Through the lenses of the eyes, I could see so much I wondered and through a tiny crack that too!
Draped in a green Kanjivaram she appeared on the scene. She stood, held her ebony black silk hair in one of the hands and twisted the other to see what hour it was. The half-sold basket of the gajras lay unattended on the moist sand. The green drape with a bright golden brocade fall just complemented the scene so perfectly. The sun was about to sink when her friend arrived. I was no more looking at the waves.
The souls looked at each other and looked around to check if they were being looked at by anyone. I was not to be noticed. The other one had probably just finished her work in the office and rushed to the venue. Her skirt and the knotted hair told me all about the day she must have spent looking at papers and people. The women’s eyes met and sparks flew off. They held each other by the hands and danced in circles for sometime before the beach was a green lawn- lush Kanjivaram with the yellow brocade popping here and there like mustards. The two souls stood in mutual admiration of the luscious frames they were face to face with. The office goer plucked a small mustard and lifted it so that it now touched the ruby lips of the gajra seller. The swirling motion of her gentle fingers made the tiny flower go round in circles and the blades of the ceiling fan thus made tried hard to nibble at the smooth coating of red those lips had. The frames measured themselves against each other- the highs and the lows, the long and the short and the warm and the not so warm. It seemed like a contest where the parties wanted the opponent to win.
Voluptuous was the embrace and intensely mesmerizing was the act where they hid themselves in each others arms. The knotted hair all through loosened itself while the hug tried to weld the two frames together. “You should not throw the unsold gajra around like this, let me put them back to where they belong” and the queen was decorated. The lawn where they stood was then grazed a bit by the other one and a veil was made out of the exploit. Rubies struck each other, hills rejoiced and the calm in the jungles was disturbed by running rabbits who made desperate attempts to escape some enemy they loved. Like an onion, the two souls stood as one frame, exploring the layers of sensuousness the other was draped in. “Kajal tastes fun” she said and the other one celebrated her culinary initiation with an everlasting song that continues to ring in my head.
“You are beautiful” and “You are beautiful too” echoed all around and filled the desolate surrounding.
Was a moment when I heard sitar in the waves, tabla in the winds and a flute in the horn of the bus from the busy road that ran not so far from the beach. Had to rush because the overdose of beauty, art, science and religion- all at the same place was beyond all that my little senses could assimilate!