It is this phase of season in Bhopal which i have liked the most all throughout the 15 years that I have spent here.
The season of Garba.
The onset of winter is just on the cards, the breeze starts shivering you in night. And there is a light visible mist in places. With Navratri starting you can hear hymns all around. The colors and the excitement that the Garba brings is more than enough to lift even a lifeless soul.
It was in 2000 when i was in class 11th. Had just graduated to the big league of toddlers turning into boys. And at that time everything was in a short supply. Had to be home by 11 PM and had a limited purse.
Best days as they were, they were always too exciting too be forgotten. Still remember how my friend and i used to shiver like a drenched puppy on a green scooter while returning from the Garba at 12 in the night.
The "Shimla road" leading Barkheda through Shakti Nagar was the ultimate test of strength. And as the name suggest that particular stretch of BHEL used to be particularly more chilly. And if rumours were to be believed, unknown ghosts and known goons used to patrol that lonely area in the night. But by gods grace we would reach home, eyes wet and swollen.
And as I entered into my home, i Would get a mild words of anger lecture from mom and dad but who would care as mind was still captivated by the "Dholi raa's and Pankhida".
Saw adolescent love blooming and then withering away. The blue and red ghagras would blend beautifully with the brown and gray kurtas. The abundance of deep black eyes and the long dark hair were too captivating to even stare at.
The whole atmosphere was so electrifying. Anticipations of every nature and hope of every depth that are associated with the Garba made sure that we never missed them.
As one would walk across the Garba ground familiar faces and age-old voices would greet us. I bet that you would meet all those at Abhivyakti whom you have not been able to meet for the last one year.
"It was love in the times of Garba" as Gabriel Garcia would have put it.
Eyes would meet and then fall away, and we would call it "haya" (shyness). And if they rose again we would term it "ada". The stares in between the smoke of fag, the constitution of a search party of able bodied man to look for lost mojdis and stolen shoes, and the final meeting before the temporary parting at Press Complex over poha,jalebis and tea...ahhh.
Have many a tales to tell, from where should i begin and where should I end.