I lie on a sun bed on the beach framing a photo of my hand attempting to grab the rainbow in the sky. The diamond on my middle finger identifies that I’m the rainbow chaser. There… I think I’m getting the right light. The diamond’s sparkling, my hand’s perfectly placed around the rainbow and the colors look bright enough.
“aaack…. Alanis. Get out of my frame.”
She gives me her profile instead. The foot massager is grinning as he continues working on my not-so-receptive toes. I suppose it isn’t often, even in Goa, that you see one woman astride another.
Alanis is quite comfortable there. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my friends it is… that you can never beat them, you must always join them.
I sigh as I click a lovely shot of the rainbow shooting over Alanis. Then I push her off.
****
Lazy days begin with breakfasts that can be lingered over. A shack of wood with plastic curtains keeping the rain out and a soft breeze bringing some drops in is where we spent every morning in Goa. The first day began like this – “Fill me in.” Some things need to be talked about. The subject may be trifle troubling but you get it done quick and clean.
“Aldair says he doesn’t care enough anymore.”
“Sidhhartha says he’s dating the woman he was just friends with.”
(We groan at the cliché)
“I think I shouldn’t have called things off. I mean it’s not like I’m getting married tomorrow.”
I frown at Katharine at the same time that Alanis smiles. Kat just looks plaintive.
The sensitive stuff dealt with we launch into character assassinations and bitch-a-thons. Salvatore, Quinn, Menon, all of the above, are dissected and cremated.
The last time The Four of us spent a night together it was the night before Paris’s wedding. In honour of that event we bitched out every guy we knew save Mars. The night passed quickly. Mr. H’s warnings to let the bride get her sleep so she glowed flew around with the cuckoo.
This is 6 months later and Paris has left her husband behind to holiday with her friends. Over breakfast and in the midst of saying, “he’s really manic.” Alanis breaks thought to say, “You know I don’t think I’d mind if Mars was here.”
Kat nods good naturedly. I think about it and agree. Paris just grins.
*****
Katharine and I walk along the beach. I started picking stones for Rosalie (my youngest niece) and somewhere started holding them for myself. There’s something magic about finding shining color in water, makes you wish there was a story with each stone. The green one fell off the mermaid’s fin, the red one was on a pirates dagger, the smooth oval with a crack was a cursed stone that shattered itself. Before I know it my mind is full of magic and my hands full of dreams. Katharine willingly takes some off my hand when she sees they’re falling out. We amble along.
“You really will follow up on your dance dream right?”
Katharine just told us all this morning that she plans to quit her advertising job and take up dancing again. She wants a certificate in it to set up her own school eventually. All that was stopping her all this while was the imagined absurdity of dance as a career for the daughter of a business family.
“I think so. I just have to work around Ma.”
“Okay. I’m really happy you’re thinking this way.”
I suddenly remember that some months ago I’d written a really bad poem for Kat.
Dancing girl
Puts on her shoes
Gliding she tango’s
A step or two
Throws away her cares
Puts down her lists
Wildly she sashays
Through ensnaring mists.
Forgotten legacies
No other dream
She’s where she wants
In her dancing cleats.
What was written in hope seems a possibility now.
We wander back to our spots in the sun and pounce on the other two. Kat hands my stones back and i dump them in my Elmo bag as it begins to rain.
picture courtesy: www.flickr.com
“aaack…. Alanis. Get out of my frame.”
She gives me her profile instead. The foot massager is grinning as he continues working on my not-so-receptive toes. I suppose it isn’t often, even in Goa, that you see one woman astride another.
Alanis is quite comfortable there. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my friends it is… that you can never beat them, you must always join them.
I sigh as I click a lovely shot of the rainbow shooting over Alanis. Then I push her off.
****
Lazy days begin with breakfasts that can be lingered over. A shack of wood with plastic curtains keeping the rain out and a soft breeze bringing some drops in is where we spent every morning in Goa. The first day began like this – “Fill me in.” Some things need to be talked about. The subject may be trifle troubling but you get it done quick and clean.
“Aldair says he doesn’t care enough anymore.”
“Sidhhartha says he’s dating the woman he was just friends with.”
(We groan at the cliché)
“I think I shouldn’t have called things off. I mean it’s not like I’m getting married tomorrow.”
I frown at Katharine at the same time that Alanis smiles. Kat just looks plaintive.
The sensitive stuff dealt with we launch into character assassinations and bitch-a-thons. Salvatore, Quinn, Menon, all of the above, are dissected and cremated.
The last time The Four of us spent a night together it was the night before Paris’s wedding. In honour of that event we bitched out every guy we knew save Mars. The night passed quickly. Mr. H’s warnings to let the bride get her sleep so she glowed flew around with the cuckoo.
This is 6 months later and Paris has left her husband behind to holiday with her friends. Over breakfast and in the midst of saying, “he’s really manic.” Alanis breaks thought to say, “You know I don’t think I’d mind if Mars was here.”
Kat nods good naturedly. I think about it and agree. Paris just grins.
*****
Katharine and I walk along the beach. I started picking stones for Rosalie (my youngest niece) and somewhere started holding them for myself. There’s something magic about finding shining color in water, makes you wish there was a story with each stone. The green one fell off the mermaid’s fin, the red one was on a pirates dagger, the smooth oval with a crack was a cursed stone that shattered itself. Before I know it my mind is full of magic and my hands full of dreams. Katharine willingly takes some off my hand when she sees they’re falling out. We amble along.
“You really will follow up on your dance dream right?”
Katharine just told us all this morning that she plans to quit her advertising job and take up dancing again. She wants a certificate in it to set up her own school eventually. All that was stopping her all this while was the imagined absurdity of dance as a career for the daughter of a business family.
“I think so. I just have to work around Ma.”
“Okay. I’m really happy you’re thinking this way.”
I suddenly remember that some months ago I’d written a really bad poem for Kat.
Dancing girl
Puts on her shoes
Gliding she tango’s
A step or two
Throws away her cares
Puts down her lists
Wildly she sashays
Through ensnaring mists.
Forgotten legacies
No other dream
She’s where she wants
In her dancing cleats.
What was written in hope seems a possibility now.
We wander back to our spots in the sun and pounce on the other two. Kat hands my stones back and i dump them in my Elmo bag as it begins to rain.
picture courtesy: www.flickr.com
3 comments:
Very nicely written...don't know the people you are talking about...but they come alive through your writing...wish I could write like that!!! Crap! :)
a bad poem, put up. brave.
You are the known who memoirs the unknown. A colour missed in the bow made by the rain, a mood that said its hello and quick goodbyes. All that maybe left are words, glowing golden.
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