|Roman figurines grace the backs of the wrought iron chairs at Gaylord Cafe|
At a crossing near Churchgate station, I realised that among the things I love most is the tendency of decisions to be formed all on their own. At Kitab Khana's Food for Soul, I simply couldn't choose between three flavours of cupcakes. Yet, when the waiter arrived, my lips formed the words with clear certainty - oreo cupcake. And what a good decision it turned out to be! A better example would be the way my feet continued to move, from Fort to Churchgate, and onwards, charting a course whose destination was unknown to me. I used to think I was a little insane for the pleasure I derive out of aimless wanderings, until I came across several Murakami and Orhan Pamuk characters who did the same. Or maybe, that's just further proof of my insanity. Some day, I would like to temporarily relinquish my bipedal status and view the world from a different vantage point.
A little unrest, a little poignancy - is like that essential pinch of salt in any good work of art - be it a composition or a poem. And like sunflowers reaching out to the sun, some knot within our soul unties itself and gravitates towards the song/poem.
It is funny how the music fades out the second the words in one's novel start sinking in. Only when the waiter began humming a few lines did I realise that the cafe was playing the instrumental version of the Hindi oldie 'tumse milke'. Oddly enough, the music went with the story I was reading - the protagonist had just begun to read a letter written by his beloved. But it wasn't a love letter - at least not in the conventional sense.