Ferozepur Road/New Muslim Town Intersection: A Muse from Real Life

From his seat, the water goes on for miles.
His shorts were baggy and wet still, clinging to his skin like a sucking mouth. He rocked on the faded green pole, just enough to make his heart gasp a little as he teetered over the dark, swirling wine. It was noiseless, the water, drowned out by the hum of neon and exhaust heaved out of pipes. He breathed quietly, in tandem with his heart. The breeze was thick and humid, stirred sluggishly by moving traffic. It clung to his bare chest, lay damp hands inside the creases of his arms and neck. He sat motionlessly, one leg higher than the other on the railing, shoulders slanting towards his lower foot. It was strange, he thought. He felt like he was pul seraat, only he was the bridge between the bright, weird daytime at his back, and the quiet reality of the rushing, tree-flanked water before him. He shifted meditatively. It was always day in the city. Mornings were bright with sunlight, and night was lit up by street lights, shops and flashing billboards; tubelights brash and bright as a cheaply lipsticked mouth. The distinction between night and day was blurred. He wondered what people in the city were afraid of, the way they lit up the dark. At home there was none of this, the brightest light at night was a lantern, and that too only when the moon wasn

3 Comments so far

  1. Muhammad Atif (unregistered) on July 16th, 2005 @ 1:05 am

    This piece seems so Mohsin-hamidish!!

  2. Mina (unregistered) on July 16th, 2005 @ 8:39 pm

    Thank you, but what precisely is ‘mohsin-hamidish’? Curious :)

  3. Mars (unregistered) on July 28th, 2005 @ 12:10 am

    hmmm…nice how the scene unfolds…vivid…:)

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