a playful mood,
a playful mood,
Mornings are the best parts of living in the hills, especially in the heart of the wild. Or at least in the upper torso region where your tongue plays peekaboo with the chillness in her breath. You thirst for the pulpy orange juice stains on the bluing sky at the break of her dawn. Your vision is beautifully compromised. You cannot see the cruelty in nature anymore. Suddenly, she is no longer indifferent to your existence.
Your mind conspires with silence to sneak your body into her mist-shrouded womb. She invites you to snake through her, like a baby electric eel feeling its own surge of energy for the first time. With the dawn pouring in, through the pine trees, your expectations, fears and anxieties fade away.
of a girl,
and a can
Lady luck gives as much
as she takes away; she
leaves us with as
many bruises as she does
– perfect blind dates.
Last December, I was in the Anaimalai Hills range, along with my photographer friend – Anoop. We had heard from the locals in a sleepy town that Great Hornbills haunted a particular 5-kilometer stretch in Valparai during the wee hours of the morning.
When I was much younger I was bitter about the success stories that was I felt critical towards. Like most of us dealing with angst, I had a loose grasp on how the world should work. I sat on a high horse and complained about how Titanic was the crappiest movie ever. That bubblegum pop was a medical hazard to music lovers. The worst offenders, to me, were those similar to me, but who just had it much easier in life.
It never seemed to matter how ungrateful or undeserving they were.
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