Radio

Her, watching the traffic ahead, hands firmly on the wheel:"You need a haircut".
Him, returning the glare of the taxi-driver who dares to look at her with malintent:"So cut it".
Her, fingers playing with the Sony music system, settles on a song:"Hmm ... isn't this a song you love?"
Music starts filling the air-conditioned insides of the car

Like a million little doorways

All the choices we made

All the stages we passed through

All the roles we played

Her:"Stop being so grouchy all the time. Lord! You need a haircut and you are a grouch."

Him, after sticking his tongue at her, starts humming along with the song.

For so many different directions

Our separate paths might have turned

With every door that we opened

Every bridge that we burned

Him, very proudly placing his middle finger on display to the motorist who made an indecent gesture:"On the contrary. I am in a very good mood. This traffic is like Delhi. De-toxifies me by purging out all the rage."

Her:"Am so proud of you. What do you do for an encore?"

Him:"How about attaining moksha by running over that guy?"

Her, laughing at his mock anger, traces a design on his right leg with her left fore-finger.

Somehow we find each other

Through all that masquerade

Somehow we found each other

Somehow we have stayed

In a state of grace

Him, ever the noble thinker:"Hmmm ... I see you are about to change gears."

Her, both hands now firmly on the wheel:"Shut up!"

I don't believe in destiny

Or the guiding hand of fate

I don't believe in forever

Or love as a mystical state

I don't believe in the stars or the planets

Or angels watching from above

But I believe there's a ghost of a chance

we can find someone to love

And make it last...

Him, ever the disappointed noble thinker:"Killjoy!"

Her, scanning the road for the nearest right-turn:"Didn't I once call you a Neanderthal."

Him, scanning his memory:"No. You called me Neanderthal over and over again."

Her, flipping on the right-indicator:"Ahhh .... of course. Is this the turn?"

Him, looking intently at her looking intently at the turn:"Maybe. We could keep driving for all I care."

Her, looking around slightly confused: "Listen. Am not exactly familiar with this area. You're the city-slicker. Where should I turn?"
Him, too embarrassed to admit that he is geographically challenged at the moment:"Just park by the sea-side."

The car comes to a halt, amidst a sea of santros, scooters, couples and stags looking for some action.

Like a million little crossroads

Through the back streets of youth

Each time we turn a new corner

A tiny moment of truth

Her, unbuckling the seat-belt, turns to face him. The sun-set is dancing on her features. "What do you want to do now?"
Him, unbuckling the seat-belt, turns to face her. His eyes are dancing to the tune of her voice. "Watch. Listen. Breathe."

Her, scrounging her nose in mock disdain:"Stop being so cryptic. Be blunt."

For so many different connections

Our separate paths might have made

With every door that we opened

Every game we played

Him, tracing her smile with his hand, is blunt.

Her, touching her knees to his:"I don't understand you. You alternate between crass and refined. Like your table manners today. And your wine-tasting last night."

Somehow we find each other

Through all that masquerade

Somehow we found each other

Somehow we have stayed

In a state of grace

Him, leaving his hands where they are:"This is a fine time to be thinking of food, young lady! Besides, wine is like love. It's not merely about technique, it is also about pleasure."

Her, holding his hands:"Let's go for a walk by the sea-side. There is a light sea-breeze blowing."

I don't believe in destiny

Or the guiding hand of fate

I don't believe in forever

Or love as a mystical state

I don't believe in the stars or the planets

Or angels watching from above

But I believe there's a ghost of a chance

we can find someone to love

And make it last...

Outside, there are beggarly children who have spotted the couple about to alight from the car and move to stake a claim, flashing their brightest smile at them. She looks at him, startled by this sudden on-slaught of friendly rascals. He looks at her, marvelling at Cupid's disguise.

Answers

The old man, resting on a rock, leaned over the well-worn staff held in his left hand and grinned a toothless grin.
The smell of tobacco on his breath was overwhelming.
Scanning through cataract-stricken eyes, he took in all that the stranger in front of him presented.
The day was getting hotter, as if the Sun was straining to overhear the words about to follow.
Time was growing still, a dull predictive element in a random ether.
The stranger shifted from one foot to another, apologetic to be in his presence.
A light breeze hinted at chillies frying in the distant mud huts.
Sweat trickled down the side of the stranger's face, fell off and stirred the loose soil with it's dampness.
Emaciated dogs strolled down the mud path, barking into the distance.
The old man placed his right hand on his left, both hands firmly gripping the staff; his stained turban was worth more than a crown.
The stranger leant forward on one knee.
"Seeking to be a wise amnesiac?", the old man began...

Bedouin

And the caravan limps through the Sahara
Your feet make love to the sand
The storm attacks you playfully
Your eyes are shut to the pain
Is the bedouin smiling with you now?
And you fall into the welcoming abyss
She covers your tracks and blankets you
Like a mother would a recalcitrant child
Your ears shut out the howling wind
Is the bedouin smiling with you now?
And the Sun calls you out forcefully
Like a cuckolded old man calls his young wife
You raise your head to greet him
And your lips greet his insufferable temper with a smile
Is the bedouin smiling with you now?
And you get up, golden grains return to their resting place
Your throat disobeys you, your mind ignores you
Your senses are hiding from you today
You pay the bedouin his fare
The bedouin laughs, turns and walks away

Seven Sins

When the wind blows the cobwebs
Out of my soul
I roam into the open pastures
Of a world I am blind to but very real ...
Where war is two birds arguing over a scrap of bread
Where hate is seeing your lover cry
Where jealousy is envying yourself
Where lust is a hunger for wisdom
Where gluttony is hoarding on the unknown
Where lies are truths, turned inside out
Where anger is seeing the times of sand running out
The only place where I could survive
The only way Seven Sins could thrive