From being the hush of a locomotive engine, it creepily crawls into an uneventful conundrum: “Am I the zenith? The murmur of the chirpy aerial characters? The grandeur of the villas? And the silvery spark of the lakes?”
“Or, the perennially oscillating advanced apes hopping in/out the city? The motion of the chaotic engines? The vividness of shoppers’ paradise?”
“It is an autocrat with plutocratic souls resting in its palaces and forts: all international. It is a peasant housed with herds of guides and travel agents and camel riders: all local”, is how I mull about my sojourn with remarkable difficulty.
Anyway, whoever you’re, whatever you’re, I hope you’re, you just are… Immortally like an always and never like a yesterday. May you always envelope your crisply edged Aravalis in the darkness of the sky as the naughty moon attempts to mar its beauty. May the sun Gods always embellish your scars with intricacy and placidity as the blackness gets dispelled, every single time.
The city of lakes retains its perplexity unlike the iridescent travelers, tourists, backpackers or whatever you summon yourself/others. May its paradigm smoothen all irregularly curved turmoils of your life, your own universe in the compactness of Earth’s infinity.