|A Bungalow on Barakhamba Road, New Delhi.|
Courtesy : linuskendall on Flickr.
Sunlight filters into the first floor balcony of this building of colonial standing. It somewhat perturbs but nonetheless is fun to get some tan on a winter noon. As he and his friend walk through an array of oil paintings, done meticulously on canvas, they are increasingly appreciative of artists' talents, craftsmanship and imagination.
At once she catches his attention. In black stilettos she stands tall, wrapped in her skin tight jeans, her long hair falling over her slender shoulders. He is reluctant to look away, though repeatedly being told how mean it is to stare. He is adamant and continues to gaze as she continues with her task, detailing potential buyers about the paintings, cost and stuff. She mesmerizes walking through the stacks, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. As his friend continues to be increasingly engrossed in details of artwork, he is more and more lost.
As he is not to relent, she now acknowledges his gaze - having caught him looking on numerous times. He is also able to catch her stealing glances and occasionally fixes her with his eyes. He is not to advance, as he enjoys this tranquil conversation. Though sure he will not be rebuffed, given the scenario and his intuition, he refrains from making talk; for he probably prefers being an underdog, away from luxuries and limelight while fancying them in every second of his thoughts...