Tag: postaday

Lesson to Be

When the new girl joined their class, the sixth graders had all gawked at her. She was at least five inches shorter than the shortest kid in their class.

She wore round glasses and had leather-bound books. She had to sit in the first row because she couldn’t see the teacher from anywhere else. From the first day, she knew she’d find no friends in her classmates. They teased her all the time, hid her books at a height she couldn’t reach and, snatched her specs away in jest. It was torture for her and amusing for them.

If her height was one reason, her name was another to make fun of her. She was called Hermia.

They would learn their lesson the following year in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Hermia

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.

Stranger Things

On my first trip to Kerala, I stayed awake all night. I stood at the door of the bus, clutching to the frame and watching the dark sky lighten.

It was three years ago, on a school trip. But the memories still linger, as if just yesterday I stood at the footstep, nibbling chocolate chip cookies at 4 am.

We started out at around 10 pm the previous day, and just like any trip with friends, we talked, and sang, and danced well into the night. But as darkness fell, most of my classmates started to doze off. I sat down next to a friend who fell asleep in an instant, making me howl with jealousy. I plugged in my earphones, instead, and sat up straight wondering what to do in a bus full of sleeping classmates with only the driver to talk to.

And then I got bored. The wind blew harder with every mile we passed. The cold October breeze stung through the open windows. Pulling my cap over my ears, I walked over to the entrance of the bus. Unlike the usual full-length, the door was about my height so I could look out without reaching out.

I put my head through the door, and a warning call came from behind. The driver’s companion (who’d take the wheel when the other driver needed a break) yelled at me to stop being a fool. I flashed a sheepish grin and assured him I wouldn’t hang out the door or rest too hard on it. It was a secure door, I knew but you can never be too careful.

And so I stood there, gazing at trees passing us at 45 miles per hour. From swaying green monsters, I saw them transition to black ghosts. As the night moved onto early morning, a blueish hue appeared over the horizon, and lights popped up at every corner I turned to.

My stomach growled. I pulled out a packet of cookies and went back to my lair. A friend on a seat nearby jerked awake and joined me. We stared out at the tents that lined the highway, lights within them illuminating creepy silhouettes with butcher knives. We passed a few more tents and noticed large bodies hanging on the entrance of the tents.

It took us more than one chilling moment to recognize what it was. Kerala is famous for dark meat, and with the rest of the country dabbling in holy cow controversies, it wasn’t so obvious to us that the beef dealers started their day early. Once we understood that, we smiled at ourselves and began pointing out gory silhouettes.

It was the closest we could ever get to being in a thriller a movie. We basked in the sensation, and a while later, the sun peeked from pink clouds, cast them away, and walked out in full glory. More of my classmates began to stir, ready to explore the wonderful land of Kerala.

While they chattered away, I traced my way back to my seat. My adventure had come to an end, and staying up all night had given me a headache.

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.