In Limbo 2

To be in this moment is to breathe deep the piquant sun, to have the summer air astir with the flight of butterflies, bulbuls and sunbirds gently wash over...and to be led by the vagrant fragrance of wild mogras and  lantanas. Today eyes do not search anything : not stray feathers, nor kumquats or cowpea blossoms. Today they walk along silently, poised in restfulness. A rufus treepie calls...a crow pheasant answers. Leaves twirl, falter, get trapped in spider webs and so sway a bit longer before falling to the ground. 1.  cascading shadows  laugh, tickle the wind  as it washes over them whispering who knows  what, but the birds might- butterflies inebriated  with light seek nectar from pulsating darkness  of summer blossoms 2. an owl splinters the evening  with its silent flight into a million shards of soundless sounds, red moon rises spilling  gold onto the darkling folds of  the slouching twilight;  Vesper  pale and alone mo...

Summering in colours " Just look at Du Plessis's magic, guys! Rescuing RCB from the jaws of defeat and possible elimination"... Thundering applause drowns the stadium. Camera catches many flashy smiles whose brightness could very well match the forty above temperature burning up the garden city. But then there are those with their exclamative 'oh nos' hidden away behind cupped hands. Lenses zoom in on them with elegant professional cruelty. Ah, how liberating it must be to lose oneself in the momentum, the swing of the bat, the spin of the cork, the euphoria of the spectators...find yourself somewhere in the myriad expressions of the sea of strangers...Waves after waves of them. As a family in the thrall of IPL, India's premier cricket league, we indulge in petty in-house betting and on-the-house iced tea, trying hard to sneak past the sultry summer with its heat and dust. In vain do the eyes search the skies for unwarranted leniency, some faint plume of cloud...