The Two Krishnas by Ghalib Shiraz Dhalla

Author:Ghalib Shiraz Dhalla [Shiraz Dhalla, Ghalib]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riverdale Avenue Books
Published: 2014-02-14T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

It would have sufficed to be cocooned in a local luxury hotel, but they managed to head northwest to the lush Ojai Valley, a little over an hour from Los Angeles and nestled at the edge of the Los Padres National Forest. Revered by the earliest settlers, the Chumash Indians, as a place of healing and mystical powers, the serene valley was often referred to by many spiritual seekers as “The Nest.”

Atif remembered Carl Berman, over his many gin and tonics at the Roosterfish, recommending The Nest, an intimate Spanish-styled landmark inn built in the 1940’s over oak-covered land. He had made a mental note of it then and there, and now that the opportunity had arisen from their reconciliation, Atif had combed the property on-line and made all the arrangements for them. Although Atif had never been to Tuscany, from photos he’d seen, he thought that this is what it might look like.

They drove up in Rahul’s car, the trunk packed with only an overnight change of clothes for Atif but a hefty suitcase for Rahul containing a freshly pressed Armani suit and tie, laptop, several bulky files, the accouterments necessary to make it look like he was going on a business trip. In his satchel which lay on the backseat, Atif also carried a copy of Coleman Bark’s version of Rumi’s poetry, bottles of pink dragonfruit-flavored Vitaminwater, bags of potato chips, unopened bottles of Gewurztraminer, a bar of imported chocolate-covered marzipan, his red rosary.

“I was thinking,” he said, fingering Rahul’s knuckle as it rested on the gears, the platinum band from his finger removed and tucked away for the time being. “Do you know what song they were playing when we had that first drink?”

“What drink?” Rahul asked, keeping his eyes on the road as the car began its descent into the valley.

“You know, the song, at the little bar in Santa Monica, that night.”

Rahul snorted funnily, “What, now we have a song?”

“‘Detour Ahead.’ Billie Holiday,” Atif said, keeping his hand over Rahul’s. “Now that should have been a sign right there.”

Rahul gave him a look, unfamiliar with the song, so Atif began to sing it in a lazy, raspy voice, a bit out of tune:

Smooth road, clear day

But why am I the only one travelin’ this way?

How strange the road to love should be so easy

Can’t you see the detour ahead?

“Nothing else? Just that?”

“Not even the ring on the finger,” Atif said sardonically. “Life was scoring the moment.”

After the initial talkativeness—the tempering of the weather, the demons that fueled Billie Holliday’s art, caused her addictions and penniless demise, the idea to invite Carl Berman for a drink back at the bar when they returned—they drove the rest of the way in contented silence, their hands webbed together for much of it even when their eyes were away from one another. The city slowly faded into carpets of lush green landscapes and little towns whose names meant nothing to them but which now, away from the city that made it difficult for them to be together, felt like little havens.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.