This one is dedicated to Darshan: Miss you buddy!
Grey furry wisps of burning nicotine made it hazy
To see where the exit door was. Or even to find each other.
Heads bouncing as far I could see – some blonde, some blue
I saw one that was pink. Leaps of joy, of agony, of liberation
Interlaced into one fabric by the strobe that kept the silhouettes
Dynamic that night. Someone I didn’t know bought me a beer
Just because she liked my earring. At least that was what she said.
Later that night at the stroke of midnight she kissed me
Happy New Year! Her hair was violet.
Somewhere near the bar I bumped into Sid. He was high on the
Free Vodka from the sponsor’s counter, on the remixes
From the DJ’s turntables, on the vibes shelled out by bare skin.
Happy New Year, Dude! It wasn’t long before he
Left to pursue a blond headed interest. Then I almost spit out my last sip
Jerking forward from a blow on my back. It’s how Dash always greets us.
Black turtleneck, dark brown corduroys and rimless glasses.
He’s the sober one among the three of us. The one who drives us home.
Lost again? He asked me, reading off my expressionless face.
I ordered him a Bacardi Breezer, after an awkward right shoulder hello-hug
And said Missed you champ! Through the grids of grime and gyrations,
I pointed to Sid. There goes Romeo! Dash spotted him just in time to see
Him catch a whiff off the blond hair. High fives and laughter a galore.
It had been months since our last high five. Since we last kicked Sid’s ass.
Since we last laid odds on couples on the dance floor.
Since we fought for the girl in the corner.
Eight years since we first fought in junior college.
I still loved the dance floor and Dash still hated the smoke.
A sluggish long weekend, this Tuesday noon, I stare at the
Trees outside my window. Then at visiting cards on my desk.
Trying to connect faces to phone numbers. Giggling occasionally,
Thinking about what Sid and Dash said about each girl.
It was the Hangover-Sunday analysis that gave us the real kicks.
Sonia had the quasi American accent, Rashmi was the hyper-intelligent one…
The list went on and on. We rambled on through the night until we realized that the
Streetlights that sieved in through the shears, was actually now the sunshine.
The last I remember from that Saturday night is the DJ corking down a remix of a
Freddie Mercury classic. Sid had to be dragged off some redhead.
Dash drove us back and had revealed to me
Something about his Dad abandoning them.
I was wasted this New Year’s eve too.
I’d seen two bouncers dressed in black sulk at us…
I look up and the tree catches my eye.
The Banyan tree was there last year too – right there. This year it’s taller.
Rolling my pencil between my fingers, I look at the tree again:
This time with a smirk.
