The chilly night
might have been romantic or melancholic, based on one's disposition. That
night, it had a dash of both.
Earlier in the
evening, I’d met my girlfriend in Indiranagar. The evening was quite unlike our
recent meets and was a throwback to our early dating days, in that we had to
roam around the streets and spend time in cafes and restaurants – inevitably
spending a lot on coffee – and struggling to find seconds of privacy in the
city teeming with people and vehicles, instead of spending time by ourselves at
her flat, away from everyone’s eyes and ears, watching TV shows or listening to
music as we cooked, barely facing any interruption. The change that we faced
wasn’t a bad thing, as it meant that we’d go to new restaurants and would spend
some time outside. And if I would get to eat churros for the first time - delectable
ones, those - I couldn’t complain at all. After starting our course in Gobble
up Churros, with food that could be had for dessert, we then proceeded to
satisfy our south Indian tongues with some idly vade. Then a short walk later,
we found ourselves ordering fancy coffee at a self-proclaimed unique brew café.
We hadn’t the slightest clue what a creama Italiano was, nor could the waiters
and the barista together explain what it was. When the coffee did arrive, it
was an espresso too strong for me, which was topped with cream too bland for
me. The only purpose the café served was that it afforded us uninterrupted time
together. Time though decided to tick faster, and as the sweet evening came to
an end, our time together felt bitterly short, but we had to part anyway.
I took the metro
back home. I had taken the metro a few times in the past month and taking a
metro still seemed to excite me. The first time I used metros extensively was
when I spent an amazing month and a half in Seoul. Maybe because Namma metro
brought back delightful memories from Korea, I developed an attachment to this
one too. But it certainly wasn’t just that, as the entire system around the
metro seemed to be functioning without hassles and I avoided all the drudgery
of sitting in a cab or bus enduring terrible traffic. When I looked out of the
metro and saw traffic jams or traffic signals, I admit that I’d felt a sadistic
sense of superiority. Yes, all those feelings just for taking the metro. Another
charm of the metro for me was that I got to see the city that I’d known for all
my life from an unfamiliar perspective, which was from an elevated standpoint.
The stretch from south end circle to my stop two stations ahead (RV road) was
my absolute favourite because it felt like I was sailing on a continuous canopy
of trees, looking down at playgrounds and parks, with the moon level with my
eyes.
Even as a child,
that road used to be a favourite as the arching branches from trees on either
side of the wide road reached over to greet each other and ensured that the sky
was visible only through a layer of green. During spring, the reds of the
gulmohar added to the greens in the canopy and it made for a prettier sight.
But times have changed and now the metro stretches along the entire road. I
only felt thankful that the sights from the metro were still green and pretty.
I left the metro
and turned to another main road as I made my way home on foot. The street was
lined with trees on both sides of the road, which rendered the already cool air
cooler. The nearly full but waning moon slotted among sparse clouds, most
clouds around itself, lit the empty roads, signaling the end of another city
day. Mariusz Duda’s deep voice in my earphones sang of a tender heart, and the pensive
sax that followed spoke of sorrow turning into strength. Walking alone on the
road with nobody else in sight and the lovely evening replaying in my mind, that
dark early-winter night felt like a cold one.
