In the hills near Kiev, he mixed his music, turned up the volume and brought Bollywood to ears who had never heard it before. The music was alien to them but woke them up from deep down. He took music from the 70s, undressed it and made it cooler than it had ever been.
He wasn’t counting the songs and the cheers. He was just looking at her, in the crowd, whenever he could spare a glance.
He was now with her. Holding her hand. Jumping with her to the music. The warmth, the sense of feeling one and full with her. He loved the love, he felt the love and then he saw her eyes. They were unmistakeable in their belief in ‘them’. It’s all he wanted.
Which is when he saw the fire on the hilltop. In the distance. Quiet yet warm. He wasn’t counting the seconds till they kissed. It was the hilltop he wanted.
He was sitting by the fire now. No one around and no one for miles. A watery soup was on the pot and some rum in his bag. He gulped the soup and slowly embarked upon his glass of rum. The warmth was empowering, so he opened a book and read the story of a writer. A man who had built his career on not just bestsellers, but also stories.
He stopped counting the crickets in the quiet. He was blinded by the book and the life of the writer.
He was that writer now. He had just received a seven figure advance for his next book and he was looking at a map to decide where to go to write his next book. He began to wonder if it was his destination that would decide his inspiration. He gave up and went to make himself a coffee. The kitchen was large, metallic and rich. The house was filled with class and was under stated. The view was significant. The options were many. He saw a young couple kissing in the park he could see from his balcony. There was the caricature artist by the street, a struggler by the look of it and that had its own charm. He also saw a man giving a talk to about 20 people on the street and he had them hooked. There was also a young father with his little girl at the ice cream stand.
But He decided to just pick up his shoes and hit the road. At that moment he wasn’t a self possessed DJ, nor was he a hopeless lover or a lonely wanderer or the conjurer of magical words. He wasn’t counting his next move anymore. He was just counting the miles..