A roadside market in Uttar Pradesh – Part VIII

Posted: March 5, 2014 in A roadside market in Uttar Pradesh, Short stories, starts & writing

Rising, whistling, anticipation and expectation. It was all a rush. We got in a cab, blurring and spinning through the streets. All black and shiny blue, the road streaked green, amber and red, lights sliding over the windows, and cleansing rain pushing the wipers back and forth across the windscreen. Shani’s smile and her sparkling, iridescent eyes radiated such intensity in the half-light, I felt like crying.

Maybe it was all just a figment of my imagination, but I was at  the centre of the universe and the wind of time was blowing through me. Everything was moving relative to me. I was charged with cosmic energy and I was in a world that I was free to design, mould and shape as I saw fit.
Then we were on the tube. Which line? Where? No idea, and even less concern. We just sat and leant on each other, vibrating off each other’s touch, soaking in the fluorescent and grey sights and sounds of evening commuters making their way home. Pilgrims in search of suburbia. Shani and I were in search of something else, something far less soul-destroying, something more. And something bigger than I could ever know. All I needed right now was my passport, the sheet of acid, and a ticket for the night ferry train.

“I am the creator of this universe
And all that it was meant to be
So that we might learn to see
This foolishness that lives in us
And stupidity that we must suss
How to banish from our minds
If you call this living I must be blind.”

The train roared through the night like something from another universe. I clearly pictured the big lamps up front searching out into the farthest reaches of space. The lights of the carriages would be a flicker amongst the trees and countryside, granules of star dust and cosmic flotsam-and-jetsam, trailing along in the locomotive’s vast gravitational force. Sporadic blazes of light, orange and yellow and white, played across the rain-smeared glass of our compartment window, each droplet briefly lit with a kaleidoscope of microscopic colours as it crawled down the glass. Reflections of reflections and reflections unending. And my own darkened reflection just stared through itself and stared and stared. Shani, this amazing, beautiful creature, who I’d miraculously tumbled into back on planet Earth, was curled up on the seat beside me. Her head, her brains, her God damned mind, were resting in my lap. For a moment my darkened reflection sat there amongst the passing night staring back at me in wonder. The glowing stars of distant suburbia and the fiery flares of passing roadside floodlights flashed all around, like so many spiralling galaxies and globular nebulae revolving through space. Eventually my shadow reflection’s attention was drawn back to staring through itself, and all the while a monotonous pulsing, whooshing sound, and ghostly warps rocked our intergalactic comet-carriage.

Class 33

“I am the centre of this universe
The wind of time is blowing through me
And it’s all moving relative to me,
It’s all a figment of my mind
In a world that I’ve designed
I’m charged with cosmic energy
Has the world gone mad or is it me?”

And before I knew it the conductor was waking us up to tell us we were in Dover.

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