My flatmate in the next room alternates between football and cricket on TV. Through curtain-less unwashed French windows, the dipping Sun, blazes its way into the apartment and obliterates most of what appears on the television set and on my laptop. I see myself reflected on the screen whenever it grows dark in the movie, which is often. There are four more suns there, two each on the retinas and on each glass of my spectacles. I’ve shut the windows for the wind outside is strong and the ceiling fan swayed and squeaked too much and made nervous. One day I must die, but not by a ceiling fan landing on me, if I can help it. Or by being blown to smithereens by some crazy terrorist contraption or being run over on the road and most certainly not while I am sleeping. When I woke up this morning, I found the lower eyelid of the left eye swollen and sagged. An insect bite probably. A two day malady, I suspect, during which I must live with the facial asymmetry. There are no longer the four suns. The real one’s behind the air conditioner at the moment. The room’s a cooler, more elegantly lit place. Small and large buildings infest the scenery outside. From afar, they all look white with black rectangles where the windows are. Later in the evening, when the lights on the staircases are turned on, the consequent zigzags will be visible. Lower down, a green flag with a white crescent moon flutters casually. Below it, a maze of tin roofs and blue tarpaulin sheets stretch into the distance. Pretty soon, the mike will screech again and bestow the knowledge of Allah upon whoever cares or does not care to listen. One can hear it several times a day, starting 06:00 Hours. Started off being a major irritant, but these days, I find the noise curiously relaxing. It used to wake me up in the mornings earlier, but my sleep’s gotten used to it off late.
The speakers, along with a mosquito repellent and a cell phone charger, stand on top of the woofer, lying on the ground. One of them doesn’t work anymore. I realized that when I picked it up and put my ear to it. Must’ve been that way for months now. So much for a good ear for music. I don’t tell my current set of friends I’ve bought cassettes of Aashiqui and Saajan, amongst others, in my time. All of us have a good laugh over the music of the 90s these days, although I suspect, it wasn’t laughs they started off listening to those songs for, either. On my hard drive, I only carry independent music from Swedish and Norwegian bands. All the Hindi music is stored on another hard drive, safely hidden where not many can find it.
The day has trudged past while I stared at the laptop, played Spider Solitaire and thought of writing. Picked up one or two of previously abandoned stories and tried taking them further. After every two words, played Spider Solitaire, checked mail and took a piss. If there’s any inspiration waiting to burst upon me, it better be fast. Cute two page essays do not an author make. Twilight’s here. Sky’s pink above and pinker at the edges. Zigzags visible. No sound from the TV for some time now, flatmate’s asleep or perhaps wrestling with Kundera. If the first bit of printed material one reads, outside of course books, at the age of twenty six, is Kundera, then one is in trouble.
Well, anyway, the day’s almost over and the cricket match I want to watch will start soon. Tomorrow another week will come and go, quicker than the last one for this one’s only 5 days. At the end of which, I’ll again do more staring and little writing. Maybe, something will come out of that. Till then, this will do.
