Thursday, April 26, 2012

On the stool

He looked out through the window, he had been here before. Beyond the mist that engulfed the glass he saw them trickling, the drops of rain. It was an odd time for the rains in this time of the year. Maybe there was something big about to happen or maybe it was just dumb luck. His thoughts were still somewhere in the mist of the glass as the sound of music played in the back ground, Phil Collins had just said that it was another day in Paradise and he'd asked us to think twice about it. There was no thinking twice about where our protagonist was, right there in the corner on his bar stool. Clutching his 5th drink of the evening, he shifted his looks from the outer to the inner (sic). Conversations buzzed, meaningless mostly, the price of tequila, the oil in the food, the length of the sixer and the size of his package (pay package). And then from his ears he shifted focus to his eyes and from the corner came the figure of a female. A figure that had not been taken care of but you didn't need to look at her from tip to toe to tell that. Just the hidden double chin and the muscular legs (to take that much weight) was probably enough. A girl, probably on a date (or just to have a free drink on ladies night) that seemed to seek, capture and cultivate on a seat of her own. Had she not been too busy fighting with her parents for another credit card, she'd probably reached here on time, but right now she was just staring at the concrete between the bricks, hoping for some secret chair to show up. As her eyes rolled from ground zero to the ceiling, clearly she had stood in one place for too long, eyes had been lifted from their drinks and up to her. And she got her cue as well, mouthing the words from the song in the background to give the indication of showing interest in the music, she turned on her heels and went back to the waiting area. He chuckled to himself, shook his head and chugged down what was left of his drink. It was time to move on. As he tipped the waiter, his eyes fell on the girl again. She wasn't alone anymore, in one hand was the arm of her date and in the other was a Shirley Temple. A bit of the conversation reached his ears as they cursed the rain for ruining her hair and dirtying his shoes. It was a crowded place indeed but then again, every body deserved a chance. And so he offered his seat to the couple in despair (not wondering who would sit and who would stand) as he moved himself from the table to the door, put on his jacket and walked into the rain. He'd been here before, he'll be here again. Probably doing the same things, probably just stare at the rain.

3 comments:

Mohit Rodeja said...

Salsa classes. That's where the available ones are to be found. Anyway - the last reminded me of Blind Melon's 'No Rain'.

Piyush Goswami said...

Roadie tried several classes- including Origami, Organic Farming, Business School and Leveraging Social Networking, before arriving at that conclusion.

Captain Grim said...

Other than the available ones, did you learning any of the 'skills' mentioned above ?