The Goan odyssey turned out to be short as anticipated, and unexpectedly gratifying.
Pondering over it with a last shot of Black Label in hand, I kept a close watch on the moon. I wasn’t expecting it to run off somewhere, but why should an inanimate something have the best seat at the show? It’s for all to see. Stop being selfish.
The scotch was working. Smoothing down frayed nerve endings, answering my vague questions.
It was a clear sky with no hint of clouds. Sitting on the porch, you could hear the wild dogs yelp at the base of the nearby hill. The stillness of it all was shattered by the orgasmic thump of Enfield’s every now and then. Midnight’s lucky children!
Swollen beads of sweat trickled down my back. I tried to wear a younger skin, push time back and put myself on the pillion of one of those beasts that a cousin had. It was a Yamaha RD , if I remember correctly, and it sounded like a whining motor when pushed to the limits. 350cc, but different genes. And the looks on the faces of those sitting in those two KSRTC buses, which we bisected on the potholed Thrissur highway that summer evening- priceless. Now, that cousin of mine has “grown up” to society’s standards. He has a wife, two lovely kids and a house that reeks of gulf money.
Life, take away all your glory, lend me your serenity.
“Dad, get yourself an Enfield. We’ll go riding into the sunset, fish the stars out of the cloudy nights and sleep in the rain.”
He laughs it off. Says he’s too old for this.
I can’t let it pass. It’s too hot and I need to be hit and run over by a breeze.