Flame of the Forest

Chennai Central.
The train and the tickets.
The solitude and those fifteen minutes of crying alone, crying like a baby.
The hugs from girls.
The cold morning of Mysore.
That wait for the bus .
Rangayana.
The beautiful stage with the enchanting lights.
The free idlis which tasted great.
The dead fly in the tea.
The green room.
Flame of the forest.
Backstage.
Mistakes.
Fagging, sitting over the under-construction railway-track.
The sugar-cane juice.
The Manipuri stall which sold black tea.
Mysore Masala Dosa.
The kurta shopping.
The second run.
Lesser mistakes.
The youth hostel.
The evening walk.
The pitchers of beer with smoke all around.
The phone call and setting up a date.
Breaking the rules.
The morning tea and the conversations with the artist.
Roadside double-player stone-footer, and beating the girl in the game.
The walk through the garden, the flying birds and the floating objects.
Galileo.
Sitting in the sun, talking to her.
The day time booze.
Making him forget Shakespeare.
Making him define Scientific evidence.
Catching up with her.
CCD.
The bbye.
The long night chit-chat in the moving train.
Cuddling with her, like a baby.
Teas, teas and some more.
The sex-talk.
Blushing virgin.
Chennai Central

I loved my two days trip to Mysore as part of ‘Justus Repertory’, a Chennai based theater group. We were there to participate in the Bahuroopi National Theatre Festival 2008. We did two shows of a play called ‘Flame of the Forest‘.