The Tip off
“Did you look at the moon? It’s crazy”, texted Jigi.
I went into my balcony which faced east and looked up. I couldn’t see the crazy moon. Crazy moon was on the other side, the side, I was not dressed for. I told him I couldn’t and went to sleep.
I find it unfair that the light just before morning is no different from the light at midnight. The only indication of it being morning, were the huge, rumbling milk vans zooming past me as I braked. Idiots. I accelerate in anger; my car gives a jerk and effortlessly climbs the flyover.
As we go higher, it gets calmer. I am tempted to slow down, but I resist. When I reach the highest, I see the moon, now against a slightly lightened sky, which was at least a little indicative of the morning to come.
It was crazy. It stuck to the top right corner of my windshield, like a maniac. I take a turn, losing it for quite a few minutes. By the time it appeared again, it was pasted against a soft blue sky.
The wrappings of cold, desolate and far were ripped off of it, it shyly shone, like someone stretched a net of silver across a vessel of light. It was beautiful like I know it will never be after those three minutes I spent, with a glass partition between us.
It hung like an enchantment waiting to be cast upon Hyderabad. If I touch it, will white dust light me up? If I pray, will god grant my wishes? No.
The sun cleansed the city of the mist and the drunkenness. Who will cleanse the city of the goddesses?