We were out for no reason. 9 to 5 had already commenced being a strain for the back and did I say we were still in college?
Aimlessly treading the streets was no longer a matter of choice but a compulsion. Keeping up with that, well lets say, is a bit more towards the monotone than you can presume it to be. But we did always manage searching out an off beat.
Hidden beneath the remnants of a majestic forest was the huge 7 storeyed giant, a true manifestation of human might, a hotel under construction (kind of an anti climax). Leaving the hilly turns of NH 10 we found our way through the would-be parking till the enormous black silhouette rose to view.
Being blocked only by a mason with a self imposed sentry duty, and “dekhne aye hai bhaiya khali (we are here only to catch a look)” being our passes to the forbidden paradise, we took a step onto the cement dias from the grassy terrain. Like a half-empty- or-half-filled glass the hotel had gained the perspective of both being a new born and the one in the dilemma of the choice of lingering on to his count of days. For a moment you could imagine yourself being amongst ruins of witnesses of the lost days and for the very next it would seem like the dawn of a genre unfamiliar with these woods. Bordered against the western sky stood the object of our explore right above us.
It was only a matter of seconds and the two of us were scanning through the array of pillars and the rough marble-demanding cement floor declaring a corner to be the lounge and the other to be the reception in making. The building under construction seemed like an incomplete story or like one with an open ending which gave you immense to ponder upon. It was not like the movie where you appreciate the fate of the protagonist but like the one where you seem more concerned about framing your own conclusion of the story. It was the left work of a lost author crying out to be fulfilled.
Treading our ways through the whirling railingless staircase, we soon landed upon what look like the restaurant. It felt magical when with a bat of an eyelid you could see the cement walls transcend into carved delicacy, the plastic hanging newly foundationed ceiling covering up with a bright dangling chandeliar, the empty halls being lined up with white clothed tables and mahogany chairs, the awkward silence vent to a caccophony of variegated voices.
Six spaces for doors lined the corridors along the hallway in the next floor. You did not need the blessing of a bachelor’s degree to realise them to be the suites. We had the freedom to presume it to be the yellowed pages of history or the blank ones waiting for a new story. We went for the latter of course. Thinking of the first couple to make their way into the suite as a manifestation of their newly established story and the walls unknowingly rise in worth in their memories did hit hard on our testos!
I can well recall my companion trying to give things a dramatic twitch suggesting the existence of props from a play of Dante adored for his perspective of the “other paradise” which might have reigned the place before its unwanted exploitation and I being quite against the masculine bravery had rendered him back to the optimistic reality.It was hardly dusk when we were both at the rooftop. The sun setting beyond the horizon of huge dry leaves was both a signal to return and a high five for a beautiful evening of exploration. Perhaps that is the aura about openness, it opens up your perspectives, you can feel what you want, you cannot blame the author’s sight to be against your foresee.
It is meaningless to add the promise we made to be back to watch our imaginations being metamorphorised to imagery.
“7.25” said google on being asked the time and i do not remember our warden being quite enthusiastic about unauthorized late night ventures and soon our footsteps were following themselves back.