Silently Watched Budh

Silently watched budh as I tore through the air leaving only ripples in eternity.

That’s all he has done for so long, budh. He extends his intrusive silence to the farthest corners of everything. He dies only to come back again. He watches all that unfolds under his glory.

All cower when budh is at the zenith of his glory. The rich bath in tetrafluoroethane. The poor decide to shake the constituents of air through simpler mechanics. Budh watches them all. Perhaps he laughs. Perhaps he shares the inside joke that mother nature seems to be so amused with. Perhaps he doesn’t even care. But I do know for a fact that there is quite a lot that he watches – all of it silently.

Speaking of the unseen that he sees, he sees the two women walking ahead of me, one older than the other. One clad in pink and the other in black. They walk ahead of me treading the earth exactly where I had decided to plant my feet as I advanced. They don’t notice me since I walk a short distance behind them. The wild animals also work to my advantage inadvertently. The deafening shock-waves caused by my feet hitting the ground submerge in their meaningless noise.

I had hoped that the women would go straight into the jungle but they walk the same path I had chosen. They turn left on to the pavement. I follow. What else could I do? They had acquired the property meant for my feet and my feet alone. Now that we are on the pavement, I decide to regain my bequeathed fortune: the land where I had decided to plant my feet as I advanced. I overtake them. I don’t even look back. Who would have looked at them anyways?

Budh and I had shared a moment. We had seen those who walked our path for us, better than us, before us, of greater consequence than us in every way perhaps. In the silence of the Budh, I saw the music settling on the horizon. The music was the darkness of consequence. Budh lay dying. As he breathes his last, some think that he would never come back. But he will come back. He is Budh. He is the day. He is the sun. He watches all that unfolds under his glory.

Fizaon Ka Be-Taj Badshah, Hawaon ka Raja

I am in the business of the skies, the trade of the wind. I am the uncrowned prince of the untamed skies, the homeless sultan of the impalpable clouds.

In the lobby of my aerodrome, there is no screen detailing flight schedules. In the cockpit of my ATR-42, there is no pilot telling me where we are headed. My aerodrome is an aerodrome of the fearless. My flight is a flight unto madness – for in madness is revelation.

My captain is a vector. If to a crash he goes, to a crash I go. There is no black box for you to satiate your feminine curiosity. There is no safety investigation board. Safety is concept alien in my aerodrome.

If you are afraid, you should definitely fly with me. If you are fearless then you should take me along.

P.S. If you have a passport, do keep it. My aerodrome does not require your filthy passport.