Surf The Dolphin Day

Its 11 pm in the night. Its cold outside. But we are running in our shorts
in the gentle softness the sand has to offer.
Its pitch black, almost unsafe and practically illegal.
But there is no real law. We have done it before.

A couple of beers, rajma and rice and the Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou.
Somehow that inspired me the most. Jeph is waiting at the stony staircase
and screaming "Hail Hitler... Open Fire... Need a medic ".
DVD is all getting pumped up as he smokes the last remaining bit while
i am bragging about the selfish lives of people who reside in Bombay,
including mine... ( in a somehow good intended fashion ).

i have already entered in a trance or what we call our "Daily Algorithm".
Its not too complicated. The code was written years ago by some genious
and has been passed on through generations including Bob Marley who happily
said "Legalise it". So we coded it too and saved the file in our
beach house. And all that we do is run the algoritm.
Thats it. With just a click of a button everything falls in its
right place or what i say is a state of being Elegantly Wasted.

i am clinging onto my surfboard, kind of falling, not sure if i can even
swim right now, not to mention surf! But i move on slowly wading into the
water while its whiplash seems to be injecting crushed ice at a freeway velocity
onto my chest and my back, as i keep falling down, saved from being completely
submerged by my surfboard.

The waves are getting bigger, faster, louder and more electric with each step.
Pretty soon we realised today is not a "Surf Day" or better known as a "Dry Day".
We are just floating on our surfboards discussing the 100 most futile things
to gift a person you love, ex: An Ipod to your almost deaf grandmother or a razor to your
girlfriend.

.... and then it happened

Out of sheer but obvious hysteria and paranoia, we started to flutter like a bird
trapped between the bloody hands of canned hunters. But then, emerging from the
moonlight that bounced onto this stormy ocean night, a grey coloured fin emerged from
all of this madness, and in a couple of seconds she was right in front of us say a couple
of feet away as i am mesmerising into a state of "float in air".

She pushed herself into the green water and in a moment of temporary illusion,
she was gone. It was a symbol of joy. It was like leaping into the infinite depths
of an abyss and touching the sky and reaching back on earth safely with a handful
of sunsets.
It was simply kinetic.
An overdriven uproar of energy.
An image of ecstacy

A painting on a wall

There is a smoke and a gift shop
Down by the muddy end of the road
An ocean that smells stronger than the cigar puffs
Accumulated in the thin air by those biker dudes
Two hundred twenty five BHP held on by those incredible tattoos
The leather, the whips and the chains
Horny girls with beach hair and all that beautiful cleavage
Surfboards, skates, short skirts and gorgeous legs
A slight disaggeragation makes room for another beauty
Not a real life depiction but created by one
There is a painting on the wall
An arch shaped entrance in a world of colours
I really cannot figure out what it wants to say
Don’t think I tried to find the meaning
It has an unusual color combination
Not flashy at all, not earthy at all
And yet it captures everything
Life, death, oxygen, water,
Real love, fake love, music,
Heaven, hell, hatred, greed, insanity,
“processed sanity”, lust, silence
Now I don’t mean to say the painting is talking about that
It just generates those feelings inside of me
Goosebumps pop up as I shiver with cold hitting wind
As I see the last flight of the sea birds for the post sunset evening
As I start to walk back home I am left with myself

Wonder what the painter went through when he painted that
Wonder what her bra size was
Wonder if there was a better cleavage than that
Or all good cleavages of more or less of equal temptation
Wonder how I am going to pay my long stock of bills
Wonder if Shreya has even mailed me the visa stuff or not
Wonder how complicated our lives are going to get
Wonder what kind of pleasures we are searching for

Wonder what kind of a paint brush the painter used
Wonder what his side of the story was
Is just a random mixture of colours
Or is it something that is so pure
That I can never interpret.