a night at the saeen’s
the sound rises like foam, a bass ocean gathering mysterious water to its flanks.
the wave peaks, neck tensed, head flung back, and then subsides in a fluid exhalation. the energy of it rushes around the whitewashed courtyard, plucking at clothes, leaves and smoke with a frantic concentration.
the beat quickens with each roar, a heart pumping faster with each roll of shoulder and gunshot crack of impact. suddenly beneath the insistent pace emerges a quieter beat, a sensual croon- a throaty, coaxing sound, rolling with suggestive nakhra. something hungry leaps out of my skin towards it.
feet beat on bare brick. the rhythm echoes through the ground as the wind flings an appreciative leaf or two at the circle of dancers. the pulse of the dhol is insistent, challenging, egging swaying bodies on and on relentlessly. a hand emerges from the crowd, opening and closing a palm to the beat.
we leave reluctantly, followed by hoarse rolling cries of jhoolay laal and a rhythm that continues on its own volition. feels like the sound of eternity.