The Scent of a Woman and Judas priest

Beyond books, beyond booze he never looked - a comical embodiment of weakness, surviving in his shell, a mere meaningless existence, a life of numbness, content nevertheless. Until the shell cracked. Not abruptly, but incubated by warmth and permeated by emotions. Who could stop the sands of time? For what dawned on him, was the gorgeous harbinger of wondrous life, relentless charm. Restless he became, rapidly engulfed in its wake, incensed by the refreshing scent, for what he witnessed

The dreamy gyrations of a woman
To yogic music
And her mystic eyes…
Laced with black snakes for eyeliner…
The eyes set and rise
Like a sun in all its poise

Her saree painted
With the intoxication of religion
Hindu gods, goddesses, chariots and cradles
Each one reveling in the celebration
Of royalty and mistaken identity
Her saree, a battle ground, a courtyard, the royal lake
All that ancient Hindu opulence could make
And wrapped on her lithe body
Waiting to be warped in the sensuous dereliction
That her once passionate lover, hath now unleashed
Sensuous neglect – close to the tragedy
Of a live human heart
Surviving the sting of love-making bees
Beating, and ceased not yet
A heart that could survive anything
Even betrayal by the Judas Priest.

Brutus disguised as a friend. What could he do? The shell was cracked. Strewn pieces which could not be picked up. Turned to smoking, he did. Cuban cigars dipped in congac, relished. On enquiring, said he - the cigar was his life. Little did he realize like the cigar, his self was withering away. Going, going, all up in smoke. At last, at least, did he come out - out, free of his shell.

- Sandeep & Percer Anthology