Today morning for a while I stood by a railing that looks onto the Liverpool Street Station. The rhythm of the ordered chaos is fascinating to watch, especially if your ipod is belting Baba Bulle Shah’s poetry into your ears. London has grown on me. Now, when a vulgar green has painted itself on leaves.
The streets then, are hardly
still, as a thousand twenty two
dervishes spin.
This city is almost sufi in its taste and eclectic street design. Street names are eccentric, probably named by someone smoking some very potent stuff. Smaller streets trip on larger ones. Buildings in their grinning monstrosity tickle your senses. People negotiate their paths in constant motion, and thus I see – the dervish in each.
(PS – Must write more on this)
Yes, Neha. I hope you do write more on this.
That was beautiful. I have been reading you for a while and your writing is always interesting- a mostly impossible feat :)
London is like bacteria – it grows on you, and off you… until it becomes part of you :)
Georgia: Whatever a colleague says – must be done! Immediately!
nikarika: Wow! Thanks for that. Always great to receive an unexpected compliment.
Sunny: You just make it sound so microbial now. Ugh! What’s next? La Curd De London? :)