I took eighteen photos of this couple that to me was the textbook definition of tender. I felt a little slimy invading on their privacy, pretending to be clicking other people, but really watching their every twitch as they went about being literal and laid back in the lawns, soaking in the music, eliciting from me multiple layers of awe, respect and envy. But I pardoned myself for being slimy; I know how badly I wanted to click them. Her. Especially her, as she absently but normally stoked her husband(?)'s hair. It seemed like so not a big deal. And of course it wasn't a BIG deal.. except... wasn't it? I don't even think the blood thinners in my stream dictated my feeling warm at the sight. Or the nip in the air. Or the utter gorgeousness of the venue. All of that was making me drift, yes, but that wasn't all it was.
Maybe I was being something of a.. a -- you know, like how when city people go to hill stations and obsessively take touristy shots of just about every beautiful anomaly that is mostly an anomaly because you're so starved for it in the plains? (Which, by the way, is a description of me and my having taken 1300 photos taken on my last week's trip down south, to the Nilgiris with the girls.)
Maybe I was being sort of like that about this lovely looking tender couple. A .. 'relationship tourist' starved in the plains. Aspiring watcher from the side lines, filled not so much with envy as with hope.
They really were something. I wanted to talk to her. Again, her. Him, I didn't have an opinion of. But I liked how in my eyes he seemed so normal and accustomed to this amount of absent affection. I was keenly aware how if they were younger, I wouldn't have been half interested. They're plenty of those, even in the plains.
It's the oldies. I'm always extremely indignant when I see a middle-aged couple walking side by side and there's so much distance between their bodies, fingers trained to avoid rather than brush against. I'm especially hurt when the man walks ahead.
It must be a comment on how I view relationships; that it's one thing to go aww and sneak a picture (or eighteen) of what to me is a still-in-love couple and admire how tastefully evident it is, derive from two people hope, and allow my thoughts a free reign - I wish someday I am her. And yet, I'm sad that I view a tender relationship as an anomaly. If only the mountains visited the plains more often, I wouldn't be such a tourist.
|Sigh, and then there were these loud jumping jack types... ; fortunately or not -- and I wouldn't go so far as to call them friends -- but they're known entities, all these bouncing balls. We 'hung'.|
|(So you get an idea of the venue): My friend and I chug a bit of grape juice with some strange Rum. And salt? And lime? Few times over and then some. We did good.|