Peter Cotes, Spain and Guitar!

To me, Mira Road, Virar and Vasai were far off destinations, and I thought somehow I would get lost if I ever paid a visit. An offsite trip introduced me to an even farther place whose name also started with V. Oh! wait there is a huge confusion regarding the same. To some it’s Vada, (wish I could grab a bite of Vada pav now), while some seek pleasure in calling it Wada. Anticipating it be a great weekend, we set off early morning towards our destination. The sun shone brightly above our heads, and of course, Mumbai traffic was at its zenith that day.

After jostling hard through the throng, we stepped our foot on the soils of Vada. Though we weren’t really deprived of air condition, and don’t recall having participated in any physical activity, hunger seemed to strike us really hard and we attacked onto the decorative platters ahead of us. The breakfast seemed to be satisfying, for the next two hours at least. 

Meanwhile, the land lady tells us to join her for a stroll around the place. Forever a narcissist and a selfie freak, my eyes somehow rested on a small hut. Its greenish yellow touch, with splashes of blue created an uncanny curiosity in me. Somehow, I wanted to explore further, and rest with Garcia Marquez. In his novel ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ he mentions of a house that’s as seemingly beautiful as this.

When the Marquez fever (as I call it) strikes me, I step into a different planet. As per his words, I seem to have ‘signed an honorable pact with solitude.’ I kind of let myself loose and surrender myself before Marquez and his writings. This house helped me zone out from the real world and step into the ‘Marquez world.’

I saw myself as the ever responsible 'Amaranta', who in spite of taking care of the subtle details of everything, chose to be oblivious. Stepping into her shoes, the world seemed a little more beautiful. The trees appeared greener, the birds singing in perfect melody, and the fountain generating a livelier tune, rhythmically. It seemed a colorful world, with uncountable shades. The shades appeared brighter, livelier, refreshing.

I wonder what would Peter Cotes would say when he discovered this frantic side of me. There is a possibility he might start penning down notes for his next piano class. And I might be his aide for the same. In this weather, it’s apt that we swing our heads to a Spanish tune. A tune that would mention the story of a fellow traveler who is weary of walking down…

“Gairika! How much time does it take you to click one selfie in front of that goddamn house? We have other places to explore man!” Oh! yes, of course we had a lot many things to explore, besides the place. For our next destination, I think I could hum the same Spanish tune. But sans two things – Peter Cotes and a guitar…