Sellophane

(This be written by Aaki
Sigh, apparently it be for me.)

Afternoon wore on, and I felt myself in a trance and gave myself up to imagination, though I had only sunshine to thank for the distraction, and we had just eaten Appams at a friend's home. Appams, according to me, are not romantic enough to induce a trance, I suppose. I hesitate. I had rather not say, actually.

All around us, Great Neem Trees were raining their leaves upon the ground springing metaphors in my mind. To me, they were leprechauns that liked to give out fake gold coins, if only for a laugh. There they shimmered, those leaves (those gold coins,) at a distance, as we made our way to an inviting hillock where noone would disturb us. I did not want any kind of intrusion into the happy occasion of me smoking my first ever cigarette.

Indulgence, I said, as we sat down, and he got up again. Dropping his bag and packet of cigarettes, he ran to fetch a box of matches from somewhere. We had forgotten the matches, you see.

The hillock housed an ancient tree, with the trunk of a Banyan, leaves that spoke of Kachnar and flowers that answered for Bougainvilleas. Two women sat at a distance near the foot of the hillock, probably speaking of a math problem that they had their heart stuck on, I would not know, really. I thought of dreaming about a black-and-white checked snake that might come my way. One has to content oneself with imagery when one is alone. But then suddenly all at once, one of the girls opened her hair. The shiny mass of it tumbled about the girl, and the other girl (her hair still neatly bound by hairpins I believe) rested her head on her shoulders, speaking of a bond that made me smile. One must invent stories when one waits for cigarettes. If crawling snakes fail, stories of two lovers ought to suffice.

I wrapped myself in a tight embrace along by myself, and waited for the man in the bright tee shirt and awkward jeans to come back to me. Suddenly, I loved the Sun as it sprinkled in through the magic tree. It was an image that I knew I would make a postcard of and mark to myself, that would be opened in about ten years from now and felt again, just as it was supposed to be. Probably just as how it was.