There must have been atleast 50 iguanas placidly sunning themselves amongst the centuries old Mayan ruins. The sweltering heat steamed us into walking, baking pieces of meat wrapped in crisping human skin. Human tamales. The lizards had each staked out a tree, guarding its shady territory. Lazily glaring at the occassional intruder with a menacing slither to remind the intruder of their temerity.
It was hard to imagine we had come here as near fugitives. My american work visa was to expire in exactly 14 days and to extend it I had to make a visa run.
We chose Mexico, Cancun, to hide in paradise.
Through the sweltering day we worked, tethered to our laptops gazing at the sky blue ocean unwilling to accept the harsh reality of economic aspirations that drives many of us to adopt absurd lifestyles to earn our bread.
It all ended well in the end but the iguanas stayed with me. The iguanas and the sanatas and the sense of inadequacy fuelled by the gaping plot holes in the story of my life that I weave to thread together an appearance of predictability.
I look into dark flickering eyes and want to reassure them that this is how it is, has been, might ever be. But I am not that good an actor. Heck, I was not even an understudy.
I saunter past sunning iguanas nonchalantly. She screams and skips past them with comic intensity. I look to her for reassurance when her back is turned while she dares to bare naked her fears to my face.
Yes, it was a balmy jitterbug of love in the land of Iguanas.