Five months is a long while.
What can you do with five months?Feel your tummy swelling with half a baby,or maybe escape from a place where the streets whisper sad and happy songs.
My life was burning sad and slow, and I felt like little ash bits, blown in the wind, meaning nothing to no one. So I stubbed out that cigarette, and picked up another one.I left a yellowed life on hold, took a trip, and lived another one.
It was a new adventure all over again, like the first time you put a cigar to your mouth, and didn’t know how it wld taste. Do you smoke it like all the cigarettes you have smoked before, do you inhale or let the smoke hover in your mouth before you blow it out, in white cotton puffs?
I came full of such questions and expectations, hearing so many things from so few people that had the guts to venture into this strange land. I came with a map, that I never intended to look at, a brick thick travel guide which only acted as a Bible I never worshipped.My heart is a far more powerful compass and I trust its flitting needle.
Perhaps the reason is simple: a travel guide only allows me to meet places,but my heart, this silly blood pumping mechanism, allows me to meet people— their pasts,their presents and all that they have.
I met (( people)), the “Hey! hello” types, I met (people), the ” So, are you used to Indian food yet?” types, then I met people whom I hung around with, and of course, I met the ones that introduced me to Mary Jane.
She was the sweetest girl I had ever known.She always arrives “naked”, and in this place, it has always been the guys who’d dress her up.Unfailingly,they picked the white paper-thin dress, with no zips.After that, she’d take you on dates, to blissful places you had never known.And boy was Mary Jane one heckuva a friend.She always made people feel special.She brought them each to a unique place where they could see flowers bloom, in 600 ways all at once. Her flower garden was big, bigger bigger than the world itself,and each date she brought every man to a different corner. Wander a little further in her world, and you might meet Jim Morrison, Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin Mick Jagger and the whole long list, who were firm fans of her coloured fantasies.
There was always laughter, or silence around Mary Jane.A person or two who ran around like an unknowing soldier,conditioned to do all these silly tasks when he couldn’t find anything else to do.We sat in a circle staring into the moonlight air, a blinding in a distance dulled by swarming insects.Occasionally, some one gets up of the seat and calls for coffee.
