Skip to main content

Relish in a resort.



The summers are quite hot here. When I first checked into this resort where all the pathways are strung together by the beads of coconut trees into green warps of twisted and tangled mess, which opened up into different channels leading to different cottages, I relapsed my jubilant conscience. On my way to the room, the brown tiled path with tiles neatly sloping on each other gave way to a rugged cement tiled path, then to a lawn with round marble plates perched up at regular intervals. I pulled my luggage on wheels on smooth paths, other times; I simply had to lift them up. The arduous task of lifting the luggage would have been painful if not for the smooth paths interconnecting the painful ones. One such path ran over a small pool with fishes in it. I paused for a while on the bridge over the pool which stretched equally on both the sides. It was a fairly small pond, so I began by counting the number of fishes.

While I was counting the black fishes with long tails that convulsively swam from one side to the other side of the pool. Sometimes, a fish would trick me into believing that it would crossover to the other side, but underneath the bridge, he changed the direction and swam back to the same side. These fishes had relatively small fins but long bodies that jerked from the head to the tail as the fish gives itself an impetus to swim. The wave of impetus flows from head to the tail and in the process, the fish twists its upper body as if to push the energy and whip it into the lazy tail.

There was a red fish with a smaller body that did not share similar swimming philosophy. It swam with a fairly indifferent attitude, not as awe inspiring as its cousins sharing the same pool space. Water in the pool was viscous, but ironically the red fish leaving streaks of swimming pattern made the pale brown viscous fluid in the pool look majestic, for it added beauty to the pool. The fish were nonchalantly swimming, but I had to move on.

My room had a fairly large bathroom and a balcony overlooking two water bodies flowing in parallel. The nature’s most precious liquid dumped into these river channels, presently being dragged perhaps by a force upstream. Even the wind acknowledged the intensity of beauty that prevailed in the atmosphere. The wind was thick with humidity, and the river reflected the tall structures along its way raised above on the other side, while I watched from this side of the world.
I stood there amazed at the degree of embellishment the river does to a fairly indecent structure from the other side.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Where British Steel met the Nubile Cultural Beauty.

Noughties have been a delight. My life began; I might be tempted to say-just as any other city’s did. But the fact is that my life began when angry gentlemen threw spades at each other. In sixteenth century, my rulers at Golconda founded me. Musi, my artery ran through me fresh and clear embellishing me for years. When plague besieged me portentously, my rulers wove one of the most beautiful monuments in India-Charminar, adorned me with the crown. But before the incumbent rulers at Golconda could flourish in the shadows of the great crown and meadows of the fecund land, Nizams defeated them in a battle. What was to come next, I would not have contemplated at that time, but looking back, I realise that the Nizams watered those shrubs of culture that sporadically rose in the rule of my previous rulers. What was to be quoted by Dr. Ambedkar after my inclusion in the united India - as home to all the riches and culture, so good to take upon the capital city status for a united India - grew...
2 comments
Read more

Chowmahalla Palace

It was the morning after my wedding. The dark peachy coloured blinds on my windows were still drawn; the maid with pigtails had retreated after laying down the morning’s breakfast on the thickly lacquered table. Stepping down from the cot, silk thread from my morning dishabille was stuck in the headrest’s broad eagle wings; it threatened to steal away my modesty. Gathering the folds around my knees, I restored propriety before slipping my feet into the glint slippers. The flower vase in the patio shone its tinselled mouthful of white roses that caught sun voluminously. In the garden that night, sitting alone, with the full moon perched in the pool water before me, I recalled the incident and the man who had turned me into a woman. The day before my wedding, a painter had been called. I met him in the courtyard; he was seated on a backless piano chair. Neatly perched on the easel was the drawing board, and from behind it, with tapered quills, greeted a man with sagebrush moustache. Th...
1 comment
Read more

Doused with life

Kiran was only eight years old when the incident occurred. He was walking home tired and hungry, sweeping the tar road with his eighty rupees worth new shoes as he walked on completely exhausted. His school bag, he hung it up his head and lunch box was suspended to his right shoulder. The year was 1984; India had just won the world cup. Kids were playing cricket in every street and by lane of the city. The cycle repair man was pulling the air filled tube through a bucket of water to check for the air leaks, the tall man Kiran’s neighbour stood by the repair man’s side counting the leaks himself, lest he be cheated. ‘If I can reach the end of the incline before the limping man nearing it from the other side of the road, I will get first rank in class this summer’ Kiran challenged himself. He reached the incline that would ease his harrowing walk from the school to home; he descended down the incline with measured relief and took a left turn at the end of it. He left the limping man behi...
Post a Comment
Read more