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" Anything for a dance with you,my dear.Be it in the rain or on thin ice.I’ve been called a dreamer by my peers,and I say do I have to ask them whether I should dream? With two feet firmly on the ground I’ve to ask you though,shall I dream?I realise asking you is the right way.For I’m a definite in my dream and you another.Did you wish to be here,I do not know. "
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We are in a ball room together,there are people around,people with faces I do not see,and as you return your electric chair dance after dance and I sit still as if I’m seeing Swan lake for the first time,with all it’s gracefulness .I do not know the men who asked you for those dances,but I do know,I haven’t asked yet. Our eyes,they do not meet almost as if I do not exist in this ball room.You see through me,as man after man walks past me and you nod at their request,and I ask why haven’t you said no to anyone yet? Are you saying,a dance is all you get or are you searching for the right pair of dancing shoes or most of all do you just love to dance?
I’m dressed in my best,after years of being in rags and I see myself as something worthy to be seen in the mirror,and something in the back of my head tells me I’ve taken the ain to be worthy of a look,and I look at the glass of bourbon I see the reflection and again a voice calls out Maker’s Mark.Well that tells nothing but the name of the whisky but a reflection and the name,hints at the hesitation that my pedigree brings,when it comes to love and going about it or the success thereafter.
All in a dream,and a nineteenth century man,I’ve always been which falls back on the scene in the dream.So I ask for another drink,Scotch maybe it’ll reach my balls unlike the earlier Bourbon and with the knowledge of their existence I hope to come to you my love and ask,for this is the nineteenth century dream and for all purposes in my book it is my job to ask and not yours to even give a hint or even a slight nod,but then how will you when I’m as good as an invisible man.
As,I feel Johnnie Walker blue and running to my balls,I turn to see you gone.I breathe a curse and hang my head down,and show first signs of relief on seeing my trusted pair of sneakers and in a few minutes I let out the scream of anguish.
I was never here to dance was I? I’m here for the beautiful lady who just walked out the door clad in that blue saree of hers,which fine as it was somehow,kept telling that the one who wears me is the prettiest of them all,I’m just the side kick .I was here to see my muse,as she danced so that I knew what poetry in motion meant for me.
Now that she’s gone and I’m as good a fool as there can be,one who can’t dance,can’t ask a woman her hand for one and who still loves his sneakers.So,I’ll just have a beer now.
.. sitting on the steps at Rajiv Chowk Metro station,and this is what i come up with,my gratitude to the Manipuri lady who gave me company...
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