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A collaboration over too much coffee.
coffee and pen

12 December, 2007

Arambol (Goa)

The smell of hashish in the air is a dancing
thing. The girl’s small, curved hands are

like two shells in sleep. The bartender
raises his foot and brings it down on a

crab, spilling its meat onto the sand, leaving
a pattern in entrails. I eat my tuna salad.

The boys on the beach turn over in their sleep
and the one-eyed man in the café cups

his own face with two hands thoughtfully.
Such violence on gentle shores is common,

he thinks. In the distance, a blue boat
is a little blemish I could rub away, a

transgression. The beach continues to
burn in its silent, unstoppable way.

© Anindita Sengupta.

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Blogger shrutanne said...

I don't fully understand this... could someone pls explain what this means?? It does kind of play on your senses to create a magical kind of effect and the festive party seems to combine a kind of holy restraint as well as the usual festive touch... but I really don't understand who is being addressed and actually what is being said...

02 June, 2008 20:00  
Anonymous Ritwik Banerjee said...

This is a wonderful collage of images. I have been to Arambol recently, and I understand how magnificent this display of contrasts, this imagery of shades, is. Write often, and spill more colours with your words and rhythms.

23 July, 2008 12:36  
Blogger Nazu Tonse said...

Lovely. I don't know Goa personally, but the soles of my feet tingled at the end ..

09 September, 2008 23:57  

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