Desi Train

Sitting on the edge, legs dangling over the parapet, I watched the gently passing by clouds kissing the Kumaon hills. A thought wrapped in sweet loneliness, crept up, enveloped my heart, as I enjoyed a glass of tea from Guptajee’s dhaba, watching the hills, the clouds. The silence was pure music, the moment simply Gulzar.

- posted in response to the 55Friday open invite from Sepia Mutiny.

This entry was posted on Friday, December 9th, 2005 at 9:31 am and is filed under Fiction.
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