Yesterday was a day of fairytale sequences.
A walk in the park where I saw a spectacular black and green snake. It was the kind of green that would shine in a coal mine. Made for a resplendent slither.
Then, a languorous breakfast and unhurried morning reading. Hazy drift into slumberland and a quaint, funny dream. Hurried plans with friends.
A mince-burger snack by the Khadakvasla dam. Watching water released in swift torrents, creating this spray curtain all around. It is something else to watch the sun through water mist. The innocence of guile. Thinking of college, of the teacher who told me, ‘Speed has nothing to do with progress, direction does.’ Listening to the sonorous gush of free water and thinking that speed does have something to do with progress. It’s more than beauty. It’s more than strength. It’s power - and that is more than so much else.
A trek to the fort. Watching the fog close in at the peak. Feeling fingers go cold and seeing feathery clouds roll in with the wind. Watched the rustle of soft, velvety leaves. The landscape looks like a verdant picture that got blurred. Sitting on old canons in the midst of moss. A perfect, oval lake, complete with an ancient bough arching over it.
A meal cooked in one of the huts. Regular fare – bhakra, besan sabzi, onion and mirchi chutney, crisp bhajia in spicy batter, little pots of thick, slightly sweet curd, creamy, milk-chai. Tasty food had on a charpoy, watching a snail climb a plant. Smiling, remembering how I had thought of speed a few hours back.
An easy climb down. A ride home with a muffled Bon Jovi.
A last look back.
Behind the seemingly uncomplicated tapestry of history, nature and a sudden trip, the sun goes down on an old fort.
To think, I had woken up imagining this to be just another Wednesday – same old, same old. It was, actually… much like timelessness.
Wonder what the snail is thinking.