Category: Thoughts uncut

One of Those Days

Summer’s gone, and so’s its breezy aftermath. We’re now rushing into monsoons that could get so bad that the entire city flooded last year.

This year, it started with untimed rains and unpredicted washouts. When I put my clothes out to dry, I didn’t know it would rain. When I walked into the office, I didn’t know it would start pouring ten minutes later. When I stood on the balcony looking out at the darkening sky, I didn’t know I’d have to wade in through puddles to reach home later in the evening.

I didn’t know I had walk past polyethene bags ingrained in wet soil, worms creeping over stones, and dogs shaking their manes, drenching me in the process.

I didn’t expect to get my pants splashed with mud and my just-washed hair getting another involuntary wash.

I didn’t want to be the only person in our building to come home to soggy clothes after all day at work. Or the one that washed her shoes every day because they drowned in pools of rainwater.

I didn’t ask for the monsoon to make me miserable. I didn’t want my sunshine to cower behind clouds, unable to push them away.

But when I walked towards my office today, I saw the sun trying. Reigning clouds veiled her, yet she shone —- weak, but steady. And I smiled. It doesn’t matter how lousy the monsoon makes me feel. If the sun can get through it, so can I.

Made to Order

made to order

The ideal one is neither a riff raff
nor the tied-up, suited honest freak
not the shaven, tall, dark, or handsome
and certainly not the short-haired one.

The ideal one feels home with bell bottoms,
weeded hippies and loose collared shirts
the expert guitarists and beard nurturers
and a healthy addiction to cigars and beers

The ideal one is a peace craving soul rebel
who picks a pick, a headband over a love band
a sneaker or seeker, but with sneakers still on
or boots or roller blades, as long as it’s his own
who’s moved away from dad, and disregards every fad
who’d join hands and nods head to every new joint
who knows governments are cheats, political creeps
fights for the oppressed supports the suppressed
like a medical man and the clinically depressed,

The ideal one is one who stands his ground,
who speaks his mind, and folds his arms
and when he smiles it comes from the heart,
and reaches all the way to the eyes.

Friend Indeed

My friend,
You’ve lost my favourite pencil
folded the edges of my books
left the cap open in my marker
forgotten to use a coaster
overdosed on bill due dates
and even skipped doing dishes.

My friend,
Though your idiosyncrasies grew,
I’ve said naught for years
Be warned, though: you’re history,
if you make your you’re again.

A Simpler Time

If there’s one thing about my childhood that I cherish, it’s the endless sea of tea plantation and me trying to stand straight on a sloping ground that’s more slippery than a bathtub.

I like to think I had happy summers and Christmases there in the Nilgiri where an uncle of mine owned a tea estate. Every time school closed for a holiday we’d pack up our trunks, pick up a truck, and head up the hills. And no matter how many times we’d been up there, round and round the hairpin bends, squashing against each other at steep curves, and spilling juice all over the seats, the trip would be filled with fun and laughter. Plus, when we cousins got together, we’d just hang around and find reasons to drink more tea than usual.

It was a simpler time when ego was unheard of, and adolescent mood swings were in the unseeable future. My uncle’s house was set deep inside an estate, and we’d often take walks around the house exploring unkempt trees and unfamiliar plants. We’d find a new fruit each day only to hear from the well-trained estate folk that we’d discovered poisonous plants. We’d run around barefoot and come home crying with a bruised knee and a guilty-looking cousin. And our biggest problem was coming back before the bears got to us.

But then we got older. What once seemed impossible became the ugly reality. We had grown up, and in the process, lost our innocence to society’s poison that our estate friends failed to warn us about. We drifted apart, seeking joy in movies rather than the open lands. We once walked into dense nature just to live the moment, but as our hair grew, so did our passion for attention, and our attraction to selfies. We are cousins who don’t even visit each other anymore. Some of us married, some happy, some looking, and some others still finding joy in brewing tea.

Life doused our faces with reality, yet the memories linger of a childhood worth cherishing.