Samaksh - Part 1
He sits on a bench at the sea. A bench facing the road with the traffic and honking noise, the sea threatening behind him. His phone in his hand, he swipes - up, down, left, right - inconsequentially. The wind too, moves with his thumb - left, right, up and down. His hair flies into his eyes, the way hair does when being blown everywhere. Browns and blacks mixing with the beige and rouge of his face - unsure if he is smiling, blushing or frustrated. Like acne, people appear and disappear - no one looks at him - a sense of if we don't make eye contact, we don't have to be kind. The car swerves towards a screaming woman who flings her coffee at the red vehicle. His face turns redder. The car turns redder. The wind howls redder. A distant siren wails against the assembling termites called humans, squabbling. Breathing helps, but the siren's rhythm is difficult to follow. The sea lurks, and the piles traffic on the street near the beach. These seemed to be the evenings of Samak...
