So Ive been listening to a whole lotta The Xx lately,
and they've been filling up a lot of
the empty space around me.
Navrathri has swung it's way around Ahmedabad.
The season of sparkle dust high in the air, mirrorwork evenings are hot under yellow light and burning feet, people moving like cars on the highway.
I don't love this time of the year too much. The beat of the drums sounds funereal and disturbing in it's increasing feverishness, and reminds me of the same. You know, yellow fevers and 'passing-ons' (such a silly word, Whately, I know.) and bad news lapping over the mood. My asthma acts up and inhalerblue mornings last till the drugged hour post-noon.
Most of all, my home is empty. Flatmates are off dancing in a blur of orangewhirl merry-go-round, and the night does that funny thing where it goes all cheap drugstore rubber-bandy on me. You know those yellowgreenred elastic pieces in packets for 5 rupees no? They stretch and stick to one another,mewling in horrid tones, and suddenly split down the middle in when you least expect it.
Last night felt particularly empty. The room was bereft of it's usual pleasant company and my laptop charging itself to glory, as shots from my film rendered away. My orange lampshade gave me filthy looks, as if to nullify it's function as a potentially warm friend. I could feel the hard, cold fingers of an off-mood reaching out to me.
So I had to get a fix, yeah, I hadta getta fix.
Hot buttered toast, burnt on the edges and sprinkled liberally with cinnamon-sugar (My newest FabIndia love: loose ground cinnamon with brown sugar and nutmeg. Divine.) was followed by a mini canister of tea and might I confess, that I nearly forgot what coffee was for a second? Shame on me. So fickle in matters of the culinary heart and simple pleasures.
I didnt even need a playlist to colour up the scene, and peaced out in a blur until company came around 2am.
Oh, the glorious phoenix arising from a simple gas-stove!
Basic space is all you need, apart from love and chai.