Dusk in Traffic.

Its a wednesday evening in Mumbai. Dusk as it falls, feathers darkened dust on us all. I can feel its twilight, close upon my shoulders. The lights of cars in traffic blink on in front of me. Red angry glaring blurs that blink intermittently. There is a wave of frustrated exhaustion that washes over me as i sit, in my bubble, temperature controlled, driver driven and musically enveloped. We inch along, and as i look around me there are tired people in relentlessly engineered cars, traveling tiredly through this murky dusk that is descending in slow motion, like a slow molasses in January. Deep within this hectic -frenetic, i find an aching tiredness that blankets all that travel within the time of changing light. Time is so transient, the present so fast, so slow, so critically undulating, like elastic rewind tape, available for scrutiny at times, and so damn elusive at other times. I can hear the man singing at me on my ipod, the tonality of his voice reaching for the sky, an emotional waver so intense, it implies the width of a screen so wide it defeats the cinematic. His longing captured into binary bits, digits and midgets, singing at me through that little apple contraption. My apple distraction. A strong whisky is waiting for me. There will be no soda to go with it, but the exhaustion will settle for water. The brain will melt into the welcoming arms of a soft tune, a good blend, and my favorite chair. Its a wednesday evening. In Mumbai. For me.