Skip to main content

The Fisherman Cove's experience


Intractable seeds of eclectic secrets, hidden in the enclosed tubules of senses, enraptured by the asphyxiating heavy fragrance of Indian wine, like flower buds, blossomed. Like a teething child that restlessly licks all its incipient teeth, I tongued the hollowed roof of my mouth with the scarlet tongue that twitched and conveyed an electric pulse with every new sensation it captured.

The night sky was clear. Beneath it, frozen in time, I reached out with my pointed fingers to raise the chilled glass of white wine. “Toast to TCS” sahu’s wine glass clinked against gym’s Shirley temple. A shrill curiosity engulfed me in flames of desire as I wetted my tongue with the dusky yellow wine. The fragile stem of the wine glass throbbed under the weight of lotus of my hand as I shifted my acute conscience around the chiselled lips. Through those lips, white wine encircled my tongue in an enchanted grip. Glistening yellow molten metal, with an acidic taste and corrosive intensity, pulverised my senses and shattered the nerve filaments on the tip of my tongue.

A beautiful lass in polka dotted white frock sat to our right by the bay side. Her beau, moved ever more closely with every sip of wine. Gentle breeze from the beach flew past the lassie as the young man drank out of her glass teasingly; locking his lips where her tomato red lips had left an impression over the cold vaporous glass, he winked at her. Tuna fish now lay on the ellipsoid lime white china plate before me. “I like them, when they are heavy” Sahu observed digging into the pale greenish flesh with the shiny piece of metal in his left, and slicing with another shiny piece of metal with his right hand. Gym noted that the juice ordered was no different from the one he had earlier at Green Coconut that morning. As if awakened by a chanting mantra, like an Egyptian mummy, Jena, who had bagged an offer from Ispath that very evening, dispelled his misgivings on the atmospheric evening’s expensiveness.

A couple sitting by the perimeter of the restaurant finished up, and we moved in to fill the vacant table. We smoked ‘romeo and juliet’ cigar out in the beach and returned to find the lassie gone. She was walking away with the young man who presently was holding her in a lovely embrace around the waist with his right hand. Her frock fluttered in the breeze, billowed as she stepped onto the stairs. And, she walked nonchalantly leaving the silhouette of her curvy body impressed on me, oh! How the frock hugged her in the wind. “sell 5 kgs of this beach sand anywhere outside….” Jena was provoking me into an argument. Jena was critical; Sahu was all entranced; Gym slightly concerned at the spendthrift Sahu’s enchanted air; as for me, I felt like a teething baby, stroking the new found wine sensations thoroughly.

Comments

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...

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...

White Man's Diary

I have utter contempt for a man who is not passionate about the work he does; I am at loss for words to decipher the enigma of this world and its subtle nuances. Its really intriguing at the same time quite disturbing to know that there are people who consider the world a mundane place. It’s inconceivable to think that people are ingenuously assuming the shred of indifference. Permit me to feel flattered for being bestowed upon me the onus of enlightening the kind of people that were ostracized for centuries by the society of the enlightened, the kind that were never kind to themselves, the kind that wished to liberate themselves from all the desires that besieged them perpetually. History tells us that the people who managed to think beyond the obvious were invariably rewarded for having put up the act of thinking. People who lived on this planet earth 2000 years prior to now, had enough food for thought. An incredible amount of friction existed at every step they took in the evolutio...