DOHA: That day, we ate our dinner in silence. In some parts of the world, it would qualify as breakfast. Maybe it did in this one too. Crack of dawn, a run-down, never run-out eatery in the neighbourhood, but in the time zones of our minds, it was dinner. We ate in silence. Was it lack of sleep, plain fatigue or simply what happens at any other everyday, routine thingy?
Because the only goat we discussed was how much more curry to ask Nasser-bhai. Wait, was he serving us lamb all this while? Didn’t matter. We had been in the midst of something special, the residue still swirled somewhere in the breeze. Yet, now it had become utterly regular, almost boring. It was perhaps this realization that was quietly dawning on all of us, overarching what we had just witnessed, got sucked into like those foolish willing members of the audience that the magician calls on to the stage to be part of the show. There you lose your watch, here you lose track of time for all time.
