The unforgettable inspiration with a smoke on the beach

Fountainhead had submerged me with Roark’s individualistic personality. The whistling wind through the seashore and patterned brown sand kick my creative glands. I wanted to document my own philosophy. Beaches captivate me with their free and easy nature.

We had partied all night in the city that doesn't sleep for random junkies. Neon signboards and the informal assembling of bars and clubs in Tito’s lane emanate warmth even while you have the coolest flings around there. After mugs of lager, you can hear a few burps in your ear while walking near the buzzing bistros. The lane pours out to the beach where the thoroughly tanned Goans take you parasailing in the bright sun.

I danced on Guetta’s music through the night with the brilliant coloured lights flashing on me. In the early hours I went out to the beach for my last kiss with the city before I catch my flight back to Delhi.

Swinging out of the shack-cum-club Mambos, I walked down the lane in a straight line. Straight, yes. The sexy scent of smoke replaced itself with the fresh nonchalant breeze of the beach. I saw a cute Israeli guy from the corner of my eye as I walked barefoot with my slippers locked between two fingers. The shoreline had receded and each step deeper into the beach ran a pang of satisfaction of the changed environment.

The wet ground had a soft texture of thick sand particles. Comfortable and ticklish. I relaxed my heavier-than-scale bottoms on the ground.

The stars above me kept unfolding an infinite stream of thought, until it all vanished. The now glowing sky had only a faint trace of the moon. The cute guy was lighting his cigarette nearby; His belt-less low waist jeans giving me an adequate estimation of his crotch. Our gaze clashed for a fraction long enough. He offered me a light and a killer smile. It was his last day of a three month long vacation. His cuteness made love defined.

“What do you take from such a long vacation?” I asked innocently.

“Smoke and Love” he said.

“A manuscript of my capers”.