On It

It erases the memory of pain, torments, everyday struggles and accepted failures...and then it takes us flying just like when the enchanting queen Scheherazade tells her husband stories of flying carpets, and he, cruel and waiting to punish her, is in spite of himself enchanted. He's in another world. Scheherazade keeps weaving newer and newer narratives, metaphorically directing the carpet, taking the king into the world he never knew existed, and letting him be there; and he wishes to be there..forever...It's a spell of the carpet. A cruel cuboid three dimensional structure made of harsh cement and brick, without any care for finishing, rises out of the corner of a road, looking up at the manufacturing unit of The Hindu, pleading to be deserted, awaiting us, disregarding everyone else. It's here that a few of us are constantly stuck by a force so engaging, enchanting, delicious that we see the world through the narrator's eyes. And then we, placed there, never for once ask to see for ourselves.......depression is replaced by fantasies in our eyes. It's magic so personal, so touching, so much OURS that detailing it would sure seem belittling it.

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