There's always that one house in a lane that stands out to a dazed, tired traveler. It's a house that is bright and lit and even if you can't hear anything, you know there's music. You stand across that lane, trying to see if there's someone there.
(There used to be a place like this in Koregaon Park, Lane 7. During walks at night with no streetlight, a pitch dark road, but a full generous moon, we would look at this one flat that looked like a dancing jewel in a clutch of pretty but staid gems.)
You see no one. You continue on your way.
But there's a strange spring in your step.
Comments