Topic suggested by vj on Sat Mar 27 16:20:16 .
All times in EST +10:30 for IST.
My first piece of prose:
The Thandavam
And then the dance started. It was not premeditated. Spontaneous like the urge to hug the girl sitting across trying hard to be a woman ...Initially the opposite building took off ... something like an aeroplane in a hurry forgetting the runaway, then it vanished, the trees near the building then followed ... up they went filling the mind with a haze of a photo of a racing car... and then the road and the shops by the side went for their privy swirl. And then the tall T.V. tower flitted past the eye and the opposite building came in view again,as it came, it vanished, it was followed by the trees, the road, the shops, the TV tower... objects in a frenzy ... one after the other, moving, flitting, racing, the images in a circle, revolting against time, direction and space, fervently trying to strip whatever meaning one has of anything, wishing for a world without concrete, the dance progressing, the movements are more hurried, more intense... faster and faster each second till the building the trees the road the shops the TV tower are hardly discernible. Till their very existence is nulled ... reduced to a zero or an emptiness, a lightness of being, a beautiful vacuum and ironically enough when actually groping for
infinity, when wanting to see infinity in the patternless, in the indefinite and in the indescribable...
Till the images abruptly darkened and died. Like the death of a lover in a car accident that hits you abdominal that you initially feel nothing,
a visceral longing beyong bodily angst and pain, and the dance came to a stop, unexpected , climactically or was it anti-climactic? ... and the dancer lying sprawled on the ground opens the eyes to watch the building the tress by it the road the TV tower making a landing returning in a
series of ever slowing images ... in the same pattern as they had left ... in circles... only to prove an ugly point.
You cannot escape.