The
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With the spiraling flyovers overhead, spiraling to the extent that you lose the sense of direction if you had any, hand in hand with someone contextually insignificant, the Cynic crossed one of the enumerable roads, that crisscrossed each others way, and entered the Delhi Haat. Abundant muddy reds on the buildings. Abundance of dusty faces loitering around, with intentions unknown to each others, that bring them to this capital city for nothing-something-anything probable-plausible-possible on earth. So amidst this carnival of unknowingness the Cynic entered the Delhi Haat and got rolling a sequence of events that makes me, the self-proclaimed chronicler, smile.
“When I crossed across the border/ I was cautioned to surrender/ That I couldn’t do/ I took my gun and vanished.”
But the Cynic did surrender. His entering the Delhi Haat is to the same extent insignificant as the companion he had held up in his moist hands. But the point is, it was the first time that he surrendered to temptation and made me manage to get a human story to fondle with. Because otherwise there was not a bit of chance of getting some human story to be told. So, the cynic, surrendering to temptation, fell prey to my whims and to the strings that I hooked on to his handsfeetbrainlips to move according to my windfall plot. A chronicle of a plot…. or….. a plot around a chronicle. Whatever it might be……
3 comments:
sorry for this comment which is out of context..... but just wanted to share a thought.... art can be appreciated when you have a secure existence .. when your existence is at stake no art can rescue you.. maybe that's why people who don't have to fight for existence in Kolkata have always been the ones singing praises about it.... I doubt any one who trudges through their life in Kolkata have much to say....or praise
Intriguing! Is this a story to be continued in further episodes?
Mr. Slav kindly make Cynic contextually significant.
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