mannequins

Standing in the dark corridor, I could have never imagined that soon a door will open to such a colourfull world. I was almost pushed through the dingy bylane and through the half open and half closed door. It took my eyes a while to get used to the darkness inside.
I kept going up the steps, guided not by light but sounds. Sounds of laughter and some music.
Music which I had heard in the past but could not relate to. Music which made no sense in this darkness. Music which was being overshadowed by some sounds of voices. Voices so gay, so open, but voices yet so dark and corrupt.
Through the narrow steps reached a bit broader opening yet another corridor with mysterious rooms on both sides. From one small gap in a rooms door I could hear some muffled voices and see some muffled music being shadowed by some dark silhouettes thumping on the floor.
Crossed the door, crossed another one, crossed yet another one. And reached an open one to welcome me. The sounds inside gulped me instantly. Even if I would have shrieked nobody would have heard or bothered, probably not even me myself.
The room had lights which made my skin change its colour. Lights. Came and went, came and went. The fog cleared up. And I saw the people all around the room in a regular circular arrangement on couches smelling of last night.
Last night would have been similar just maybe another set of people. People probably keep changing but the ritual remains the same, the reason remains the same. To get to touch or smell or feel the darkness of their own souls. The soul which always wants more. The soul which always wants to explore. The soul which is always over ambitious.


In the middle of the room was a large display stand. Mannequins draped in reds and pinks and saffrons, were on display. But right now they were not selling the drape but the flesh hidden behind the drape.
A bit of exposure. A tapping of foot. And a short smile on a powdered face. The mannequins were moving slowly with the beat of the music.
Little by little their body would move. Little by little the people around would hope to get a bite out of the flesh. They would lure the display in hope of touching them. Or atleast touching them in their secret fantasies. Their drunken eyes were almost looking through the flesh.
They would lure with money. The mannequins would move closer… snatch the money and fly back to their assigned display area.



Through the crowd in a far of corner the lone musician is singing karaoke breaking the silence of the lustfull night.


The game keeps on going on. The musician whom nobody notices keeps on singing. The women keep on getting the money to tap their feet and pass an occasional sultry smile to one of the admirers. The admirer who can see behind the drape or atleast fantasise.
And hope keeps soaring high.
Hope for money
Hope for flesh
Hope for someone to listen to my music…

no one wins
no one loses
and the game continues…
leaving behind the stench of another night.

Outside in invisible letters now I can read “the dance bar”
Inside I can hear the invisible singer.