Random

Monday, March 17, 2008

I still remember walking through the fair. The multi-colored swirl of lights and visions, never before seen, never to be forgotten. Memories do not have age tags, do they? I could have been three or even six. All I remember is looking down at the bare skin of my small hands, unrecognisably soft. Beneath them were rows and rows of gaily colored wooden couples. Their life-stories already half-formed in my head, ending happily in marriage, until my eyes strayed to the adjacent rows of wooden children, resplendent in dashing strokes of red, yellow and green. The story lengthened. The braided girl smiled invitingly in the harsh glare of the low-strung bulb. Was it really greed that reflected in her painted stare? Strong pair of hands tore me away, into the confusing mass of full-pants, in different hues of darkness. Something in my eye. Rubbing them franctically, I walked on.

A toothless grin. Streams of uncombed hair. The toy vendor's torn blouse straining with modesty. A cold shiver tingling through unexplored regions. Lost in the cancerous lips of the English teacher. Blood seeping through the cracks, masked in endless spits of beetel-leaf juice. The soul lives on. The unsigned works of art on the wall beside the pan-stall, bearing testimony. The gathering darkness urges on scores of moving feet. And from between the strain of the working muscles, came a sparkling glimpse of different-coloured hues. Slender tubes of colored liquids filled with shiny dust, filtering light. Fantasy captured in a ten rupee tube. The world was red, blue, green, purple, sparkling in the dust from dreams.................

A slight blur. I'm still in the fair. A thousand pieces of glass scattered at my feet. Red eye. The world is in shadowy colors.