When it struck 11 in the night, the noise woke me up from the feverish sedation. I had been down with a very bad chest infection and body pain.
My roommates were busy setting the special new year dinner they prepared. A few sat in the corner playing pranks over phone while few others were singing their way to glory. There were two bucket full of water filled balloons. (Grinning) that's a festival which happen in the crowded bachelor streets of Dubai on the new year's eve - Anyone who walks down the road would be hit by water balloon meteors showering from the balconies.
They say, this time the fun was killed when those Ethiopian Seductress who run the Sheesha cafe by the lane came with rotten eggs. All the screaming and shouting gave way to pin-drop silence when finally the police arrived. All doors were shut and guys were back to their personal spaces.
Scrolling through the twitter timeline on mobile, there was a egoistic competition of claiming their witness over the fireworks that happened at different corners of Dubai. There were a few photographers known to me who were even posting the pictures live. I felt so helpless to express my 'what the hell attitude'. Being heavily doped by the anti-biotics I stayed silent over my double decker bed. There was this feeling to write since then, but it took me another five hours to scribble down. My writing has deteriorated over the past many months. I got carried away by my photo projects. Still mumbling over that confusion at the forked road.
Later in the night, I stayed listening when one of the room-mates vented out his woes from past. Times when he woke up to see the utensils floating over the water that swept in their house. When he and his Dad built their hut out of the woven leaves, when his mother's saree turned out to be the window pane.
And now when the dawn breaks up, I'm to watch the Bengali Movie Kashmakash from Rituparna Gosh.
(ending up this unworthy note with a sigh. they say life is gonna change from this very morning)