With the wild roar, sparkling white waves it greets. Exuberant sea-breeze plays with the hair-strands, making them flutter, tangle. The rock just lie around, chilling. And there goes a narrow muddy path, meandering, where walks women donned in cotton saris with its pallu tucked near the navel. They walk forth, bamboo basket on head, making way for the shiny vehicles of the city. That's how Kashid looks like in an autumn afternoon.
Kashid plays a wild, wilddd song in the heart. The song that tells you to be, at the moment, at the very place, and never step foot away even for a slightest while. It's a wild song, with a soothing melody, but a stirring aftermath.
You laze around on the hammocks in the shacks, binging on munchies, humming your beloved tune. The oscillation lures you to subconsciousness; half sleeping, half awake, hailing.
Or maybe you dig your feet under the sand, as you walk towards the blue sea kissing the blue sky at the horizon, cotton clouds sailing in scene as they romance. It then gets playful, not wild. Not subtle either. The waves hitting the shore every ten seconds. It's like a peek-a-boo game, and you're the 2-year-old.
Kashid is not beauty to be precise, it's a sleepy li'l town, 122 km away from Mumbai, a mess maybe. The kind of mess that washes away dirt and restlessness from thoughts.
