Monday morning

Monday morning. Was up all night watching movies. At 5 am went to the bus depot to pick up ma’s fruit basket. Found it easily enough. Brought it home and then threw half the stuff in the trash can. At 6 went out again for breakfast. The sky was dark, cloudy and dreamy. The wind was wet and felt good on the skin. The storm caught up when we were half way down. The road was swamped with paper, paper bags, leaves and leaflets. They were flying around everywhere, dancing about with the wind, whirling mad. It was like dusk, only better. The mad citizens weren’t crowding the streets. No obnoxious noises of silly giggles, macho bullshit or disco cars. The trees looked greener, the sky was a dark blue gray. And against them picture the red Krishnochura’s dancing down on the street, creating a flowery red carpet. Felt like jumping about, felt fantastic. Started telling my bro how lovely I thought everything was. Figured soon enough that my talk was spoiling the moment and shut up.

By the time we reached the restaurant it was raining mad. They still hadn’t opened so we waited in the landing smoking. Loved everything I set my eyes on. The occasional rickshows (even with their ugly banglalink curtains), the green vegetable van, the morning walker in white sweat shirt, the lady with the up side down umbrella, the blush that followed the incident and the subsequent good humored smile.

I wondered about all the things I’d seen in those couple of hours and thought if I’d be able to write about them. Like, painting a picture that’d show ‘em all. I knew that I couldn’t. But it didn’t get me down at all. Was happy to be back home, under a roof, watching the rain outside, smoking the last one in the pack, feeling the eyelids getting heavy. Slept like a baby after a long time.