Ranges @ Midnight

The road from my flat is a straight run spanning some 6 kilometers to the inception of a sidelined sharp hill borne cut at right the curvy road under the warm arms of tress and blackness crawls to the troy like black gate, at this hour even the champions prefer not to dream of the terrain amidst the obvious. I create the palate to paint my minds surreal journey to the Delhi shooting range. Switching your vision to night mode not green but "white" follow me to the grand entrance. The sun has the luxury to witness glories and the moon is abandoned always similar to a widow.

There is a presence of ethereal ectoplasm which is felt closely by me while navigating the new sleek slender stretched 16:9 ratio lanes evenly distributed, tough the magnificent arena stands empty at this hour there is only me as the witnessing spectator with only encompassing white darkness. No erratic blasts of barrel are herd on the contrast the balance is witnessed. the silence negates the loudness sum resultant 0.

Electrification of a single vertical unit (lane) gives enough light to introspect the massive extremities the area had witnessed just few days/hours back when a guy from Hyderabad lived perfection and another from zirakpur/gemrany went into Zen satori, also a mindful Bengali persistently makes sensual embraces with his trigger and leads his muse bleiker into ecstasy. As a ghost away from fiery stardome, managed to be largely unknown has his share of memories @times travelling on foot to the entrance and sometimes lucky enough to b dropped down by a Scorpio.

So many years invested turned some into immortals and others to camouflage into the herd. The early crisp mornings had seen the European robotic machines rising into air out of nowhere aiming at the end of the vertical y axis unit and frenzied human's fetish being fulfilled.
But @ this lucid hour there is only silence for those who were; who are; and who will be indulging in this never forgiving extravagant sport. 

I float out into the moonlit sky new structures standing on my right and left and front. Each has eons of stories to tell. This loneliness is not trembling but full of awe the nature of soul is to be alone while cloaked in form. Especially the ones who choose this discipline recognize this as a larger fact. The secret which unfolds here is to be alone in company, the mind created biases towards the convenient and the intellect selects. The screeching silence is deafening as the ear is conditioned to the barrels spitting bullets but the yin and yang the silence in the shooting is the secret firmament which is the elixir of our divine sport.  

This journey by me hopefully has a new meaning to the ancient art called S.H.O.O.T.I.N.G sport.

Bullet Buddha