I drifted in and out of sleep. My mind meandered through dud-like half awakeness. I felt around for the alarm and pushed it under the pillow when it went off. And when it was stifled hard enough, it stopped. A good feeling – to strangulate self-imposed urgency.
Around me, there was some noise – gushing water from a broken tap, mortar clunking against stones, a yell to a fellow-laborer to pick up stray bricks, loud, brittle radio music…and then, it came…over and above the routine cacophony – that voice.. strong, deep, vermillion. Cutting through the years I had heard it last. Virile and poised. Mandarin silk and obstinate jade. A bloody portraiture of wounded pride. Dueling with impossible pitches and crescendos. Splicing across vestiges of mundane. Pushing forth through layers of ‘correct’.
The voice that was never just a voice. My ultimate, untranslated, unabridged classic.
Madonna.
3 comments:
Hey Mukta ,
Nice one . Dunno why ...ever since the day I read your blog ... always thought you would be like her.... unafraid of yourself.
Nice one . Keep writing
Nice post...again. What i love abt this one is the way u hav described madonna's voice...going into its depths.
Hey anonymous!
I mean..Thank you so much! Thank you ever so much!
Hey blythe,
Thank you! :-) In college a pal of mine had written about how he hated Madonna. He was quite lyrical about that too. hee hee! I wish I could get in touch with him!
Post a Comment