Saturday Night

​Saturday Night.

Red Devils at The Theater of Dreams.

Alone in his flat in the heart of Bengaluru.

The night ,mostly dumb

Except for those cheers from the crowd back in Manchester.

Lying on the bed ,

Wrapped under the blanket,

Watching your team play their best.

Special experience it is.

So was the Biryani he ate a while ago.

Yes, the Biriyani that went in was in action.

The taste could bring contentment.

The quantity just enough to quench the greedy stomach.

But the burps,were regularly sneaking in.

Alas, everything comes with a price.

A lemon tea could favour well now, he thought.

The shorts found its way on top of the boxers.

A ten minute walk to the Malabari Adda next door.

"Chetta , Oru Sulaimani"

The Mother tongue was finally spoken.

It was served beautifully hot in the glass.

With every sip, the likes on Instagram showered in.

After all he was happy

With the Biriyani.

On Winning the match

With the Sulaimani doing its magic

And more importantly the likes on his late night status.

A moment of happiness is a call for celebration!

How else than to dance to the buzzing tunes

Straight away hands felt his phone.

Oh, gosh! brother's memory card in his hand phone.

The first one on the playlist read Gazals-Hariharan.

Hesitantly , the music started playing.

With time,

Love filled the air.

Tranquility, the mind.

An hour of soulful singing.

An experience to be cherished for long.

The peace of mind, the drop of tear

The soul craving, the body shivering

He wanted to scribble it all down

Yes, the feeling of sailing through the heaven of music.

For the future

To cherish some time in the later half of his life

The Notepad started feeling the ink

It read - 'Saturday Night. Red Devils at The Theater of Dreams...'