Friday, October 24, 2014

The Diwali 10K

Stuffed and puffed with a day full of sweets, I finally decided to go for my run, on the day of Diwali. It was after six and the skyscrapers, those thieves of views and marauder of landscapes, had made the winter sun set early. It was dusk and I formed a curiosity on the empty streets, making my way like an ant through a rice bowl. The park was dark – there were no lights. Maybe, this Diwali the watchman wanted to leave early for home and was dropping hints. He would need to drop stronger ones for me.

I ran on the familiar track – parts were faintly illuminated by streetlights on the road, while other parts were shining dim, with a ghostly iridescence, punctuated with the utter darkness of shadows of trees; shadows where you rely on instinct to put one step after another, in a soft regular thump, like navigating the body of a familiar woman, your hands knowing their way, eyes closed.

Some patches seemed muddy, pools of dark endless grime, to avoid in a game of hurdles as I dodge a silhouette ahead, a girl it seemed (good figure!) – a brave one to walk in utter darkness, my partner in watchman defiance. Distant Diwali lights of matchbox apartments blinked in a mass unison, make-believe fireflies in the fertility rites of a concrete jungle.

Mumbai was on the verge of self-combustion, October heat soaring, jealous of the stock markets, playing catch-up. Stray blasts of fire-crackers, assorted bombs, sprayed the air with a feel of battle. My legs cracked a gentle pain. The sulky air was sweetened, by rivulets of sweat streaming down my body, wicked away quietly and evaporated. My blood was filtering its salts out, cooling itself, like water in an earthen pot.

Then the lights came on. It was the first day of creation. The big bang. The primordial day the sun fired up. The brightness that welcomed Ram home to Ayodhya. The strip of memory was now burdened with reality. The pools of grime were actually tiles, with a weak patina of mud. The silhouette was a woman of around fifty, wrinkles decorating her face and hair streaking white. She still had a good figure.

My keeper, the smart phone, chimed six miles in my ear. My feet replied in rhythm. There was a faint cool breeze and those bursting noises, boisterous celebrations of triumph. Diwali had started.

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