Tag: reality

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.

Game of Life

The moms were there and dads were too
best men glowed, bridesmaids glowered
they tilted heads and swelled with joy
as the coupling saw each other’s eyes
with bright exuberance and wild passion
exchanging bands with studded jewels.
Though an entire congregation witnessed,
none would’ve guessed how it all ended.

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.