The streets of Chennai had grown vibrant under the late afternoon sun. Mani walked through a narrow alley filled with colorful stalls, the scent of spices and flowers mixing in the air. Today, the city itself seemed alive, as if every corner had a song waiting to burst out.
Suddenly, a group of Telugu friends arrived — Krishna, Ashik, and Bharath — singing a loud, playful tune:
"Call me gold, call me gold, Kodandapani!
In dreams, your name is remembered, sweet father!"
Mani paused, bewildered. Sunitha, who had appeared yesterday by the riverbank, laughed at the antics. Laya, shyly hiding behind a flower stall, peeked and giggled at the energy around her. Random Tamil friends, including Parthasarathy and Monal, began to join in, each adding their own improvisations.
"Why are we singing these songs?
Coming to the slum… oh, the looks are first…
Lips are like sweets… your eyes are like a baby, you are very beautiful!"
Mani couldn't help but smile. The streets, usually quiet in the afternoons, now echoed with playful banter and musical nonsense. Gajanan danced in a small circle, flinging his scarf like a ribbon, while Shalini and Akshara mimicked his moves. Even Ranganathan clapped along, pretending to conduct an orchestra.
"New words, massy talks…
You are a good boy, no injustice…
My heart wants to dance with you, baby…
Welcome, baby, Dolby Atmos… slum queen, basmati biryani!"
The children nearby laughed uncontrollably, mimicking the moves. Mani, caught in the middle of this spontaneous festival, watched as Laya moved like a tiny swirl of color through the crowd, her shy smile lighting up the chaos. He felt like he was in a dream — the past verses of subtle, shy admiration were now colliding with this massy, energetic fun.
"Doing spicy, spicy, spicy, spicy, making crazy moves…
Eating egg whites, your skin tones are shining…
Your color is like a flash…
Your name is like a ringtone for chocolate lovers!"
Mani laughed aloud, joining in, spinning lightly on his feet. Even Sunitha clapped along, and the Telugu and Tamil groups merged into one harmonious, noisy, joyful mob.
"Seeing you, goosebumps in my heart…
Even without makeup, you have glamour…
Your style is like silly things…
I am like a spinning top, doing a fight…
Starting a happy innings with me!"
Mani realized that life, love, and friendship weren't just quiet poetry or shy glances. Sometimes, it was this — chaos, laughter, random music, unexpected dances, and every soul adding their color to the canvas. The city had become alive with hearts beating in rhythm, and somewhere in the middle of all the madness, he glimpsed Laya's shy smile — sparkling like gold among flowers, like the rhythm of a festival bell in the streets.