A friends 'treat', thrown in celebration of saying adieu from 'practice of law' to join her husband working in the Middle East, gave me a much needed break from the serious faces staring from law briefs and be in the chilled environment of a coffee lounge, wrapped around with the presence of youngsters and their loud voices.
Sitting leisurely, with the eyes half closed, sinking with the tickling of the green apple soda, making its way into me, I couldn't help but pause for a moment, looking at the six girls sitting a little away from us. I am not sure, whether I should call them girls, for they looked in their early twenties and ripe enough to be called a woman. The girls were adorned in sarees, draping the young silhouettes in style, giving themselves a false look of maturity. The lounge had this aura, that their presence had brought, an aura of life and vigor, of promises and dreams.
Spending a lion's share of every day, surrounded by people in black and white, my eyes couldn't help but ogle, though I tried not to. The friend, who was to pay for my apple soda, found my eyes wandering on to the girls, in a harmless caress and then again repeating it every other minute.
I saw a girl from the six, wearing an yellow saree rise and my eyes followed her like the pug in the Vodafone add. Her saree had moved and her navel was at the mercy of my lecherous eyes, which for a moment I enjoyed like a feast and then something made me look away. Acting innocent, my eyes circled all the way round, back from her, to be met by the stare of my apple soda sponsor and I had to confess with a little shame, "I saw her navel, the girl wearing the yellow saree. I couldn't help but just look when she stood up".