Beach ke beach main.

Oh 'ello, Mr. Beach!

We meet again.

The sand seems extra golden this evening. 

The waters, extra blue.

The wind is all sublime, and the skies, just so clear and happy.

Clear, and happy, like the mind-space, before it begins to jot down the thoughts onto itself, 

forming an intricate, complicated detail of layer upon layer, of organised and disorganised 

thoughts. 

Random or 

otherwise.

Dear Mr. Beach!

It's so crowded, out here. 

But the claustrophobia is least of my concerns. 

The horizon, which stretches up until infinity and beyond, 

helps.

People seem happy. 

And I simply adore that couple playing with their young child, attempting to make him laugh. Or that man, who quietly stares at the people around him, like me. Or the little child who runs along with a stray dog. Playing. 

Laughing. 

Look at those two beautiful women jogging near the waves. 

They seem to be sharing a gossip that amuses them both. 

I like people, 

sometimes.

I'm hungry. Mr. Beach. 

All this walking has made me tired. 

I think I deserve something, tasty. Something spicy, sour. 

Yum.

PANI PURI!

Mr. Beach, I am so grateful. 

I think I'd like to stay here forever.

At least. 

In my city. 

For I'd never run out of pain puri.

It's getting dark, now. 

I think I should head back home.

Nevertheless, Mr. Beach, 

I think I'll be visiting you more often.