Para 1-a
Mr. Late and morning, 7:30 AM, bright, golden and freshly brewed. It cannot happen…No way. ‘Swadesh’ and ‘Blue Park’ has already stewed up with cutting chai, upama, and uttapam and bada pav. Some aged actors from the origin of ‘Buniyaad’, ‘Nukkad’ and ‘Yeh Jo Hai Zindagee’ have had enough rounds of exchange smeared with satire and humor. Whispering ambience of ‘Sevenbungalow’ is evolving melodically with unprecedented harmonies, poco a poco….allargando, pounding with syncopated acciaccaturas and appoggiaturas of analog signals emerging every one and all and fading out in the universe with a cosmic appeal of getting re-incarnated anytime anywhere…..indiscreet!
Mr. Late is treading towards ‘Nana-Nanee’ park passing all vegetable and fruit sellers on and over the brick pedestal throwing a look towards ‘Sea Shell’ and ‘Mohan Chemist’. His line of vision is pulled by ‘Costa’
‘Koyala’ has started fearing mediocre even before getting kicked off and it is a better substitute of ‘Barista’. He murmurs to himself…….
Morning as a ballad and Mr. Late as a nocturnal serenade is quite poetic a blend and it is whistling amidst the whisper of the town which is surely going to broaden gradually in a tarantella.
“What is your wildest dream of the day Mr. Late?”
It is Mr. Contemporary who appears behind Mr. Late form nowhere. Mr. Late replies in a semi suspended voice and all the words slip from his mouth one by one and falls into a bowl of unnerving disagreement.
“Days and Dreams...Night and Poetry......Love and Connect….”
to be continued....
NIRMAL AUGASTAYA
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