Food

Any guesses on the invisible, or partially visible ones?

Two rides. The first, in the morning against the inertia of lethargy Mondays inspire, Friday only a distant memory. Grey clouds overhead with rain blurring the pool's surface make for a gloomy beginning. I do my bit to avoid puddles until a car comes sweeping across overtaking another at break-neck speed on a narrow service lane. I am pushed down, landing for a brief moment on muddy water, getting spattered with brown droplets. Not the way I prefer entering work, but I do my bit to wipe myself clean. One needs to maintain a bit of their sense of humour on Delhi roads. It's easy to get annoyed. And with enough potholes with little pools of opaque brown water one is helpless. The monsoons this year have overplayed their role.

For the ride back I plan a detour. The evening sun stretches its rested legs and everything around turns yellow. Roads are drying up. I ride all the way to the heart of the city, to the market area. It is a mess out there, the mêlée of horns, vehicles of all shapes, sizes and speeds moving along sudden random diagonals, street vendors, jaywalkers, the oblivious shoppers haggling at fruit-stalls for bargains... it is all a bit too noisy and crowded for me to enjoy cycling through. But as I am returning, trying hard to keep it around 35 km/h on a flat stretch of 15 km, I witness the most exquisite sunset. Young pale cumulus clouds catch the rays of the sun in a firm grip. They are orange, pink and every shade in between and as I pace along the highway, glowing from within. The round moon scratched over, has taken on a similar shade and seems like an egg the clouds have hatched. When I reach, the street lamps have taken over from the sky, lighting the way while remains of the sun like a broken yolk, spilled over but aglow, depart with a wry grin.