Small Joys

The manic pace of a usual work day
Paused
By a sun lit window, coffee,eggs and mindless banter.
Extended
By sparkling wine and music

My head, laced with a bit of liquid courage

And suddenly
The world seems a brighter place.

Chores

There's a clock that has stopped telling me the correct time.
There's a leaking faucet.
Morning cup of tea, unwashed, unfinished.
The laptops and wires are sprawled over the sofa. The electricity bill from day before, entangled in the mess.
The bin liners are over.
Stale news. The old newspapers are just piling up.

Domesticated?
Maybe.
But,
Today
I won't play the part.

That's why I won't move a finger.

My Summer Dirge

The Cannonball Tree outside my window is in full bloom. Its white and pink and yellow refuse to merge with and dissipate against the dreary darkness of the cityscape. They obstinately crowd my window and hide the black, tarred roads from my vision.

It reminds me of similar windows from other times. A white window and yellow flowers with a black tarred road for the backdrop.

There's something about black tarred roads that make me love and despise them at the same time. I don't think I would see the beauty of the pinks and yellows if it weren't for the black. But then again, I don't know.

What I do know is that my city is summer struck again. It makes me feel and want to do all sorts of things. Every year.

It makes me want to hop onto a train for a hot, breezy train ride to South Mumbai - to soak in the art deco buildings, to tread cobbled stone roads, to linger in the arches, to finger through moth eaten second hand books, to walk around aimlessly.

It makes me feel cranky and whiny and impatient.

It makes me want to quit my job.

It makes me want to guzzle ice cold beer with a bunch of boisterous friends every other evening, to wash away that everlasting, lingering sense of ennui that overpowers me ever so often. Especially during summers.

It makes me want to sit by the sea and cast away that part of me which is pessimistic, resentful and confused.

It makes me feel impulsive and whimsical.

It makes me find solace in pinks and whites and yellows, in black, sun dappled alleys tucked away in my city, in ancient banyan and jamun trees.... in open windows.

Fingers Crossed

Dakota Skye made  me wonder about making choices again.
Was I letting things happen to me? Or was I making things happen?
Same thing whatever.

Sometimes, it looks like a weed caught mid stream in a gush of strong currents.
It sounds like wind howling through a scrawny forest
It feels unnervingly, impatiently exciting, ridiculous, scary and right. All at once.
It's possible.

I might have found Happiness. Involuntarily blessed with something people spend their entire lives searching for.
Lucky me.

Assurance - Reading between lines

                                   It's funny how I try to figure you by reading things you underline. 

Check List

PS: What we forgot.

Go to the dry cleaner's.
Hunt for a home.
Pick the right shade of red.
Call the packers and movers.
Sign an agreement.
Rent a house.
Lease a life.
Call the packers and movers.
Go to the printer's
The dry cleaner's, the tailor's
Figure routes.
Book tickets.
......................

Fall in love?
I'd like to.
Et tu?

There is beauty in the World, Ka-ching!

Rural Maharashtra.
October 2011

The Exchange

Minutes slip. They slide into moments. Moments collide. Seconds spill over. Time reels out of hand.
I gasp for breath.

I don't know why I'm breathing any longer. A part of my soul I have already traded.

Some for your sake, some for yours
Some for his
Some for its
And some for ours.

Was it a good deal?

Don't tell me,
It was rhetorical.

For excuse me!
I'm the one
With no
rhetorical sense.

Wisdom for the Day

Smile on a Monday morning, because who knows, by the end of the evening you'll be frowning again.

Do not call a spade, a spade.

Mundane conversations with strangers are better than arguments with  your mother.

No matter how much you decide you won't let something bother you, it will bother you.

Ignorance is bliss, only for a while.

It all adds up...and the answer is never 42.

It takes more than a happy-songs playlist to put the spring back in your step.

Hopeless as we are, we always peg our hope on Hope.

Give me Hope, Joanna!

I miss

• Driving down roads - crowded or otherwise
• Watching countless episodes of a sitcom - back to back
• Polishing my silver earrings and bangles
• Painting my toe nails
• Laughing with my folks
• Scanning the piles of books in the pavement shops till the book beckons and finds me
• Pink colored bubble gum that came in a pink and blue wrapper. Before Boomer. 
• Shopping for saris for mom
• Drama - in all forms and sizes 
• Listening to my grandmom's stories
• Attending random film fests in the city
• The insanity of my hostel days
• Not having friends around me all the time
• The magic of comforting conversations 
• Writing, simply.( I seem to resort to boring lists very often these days) 
• Having time to think, make up, wonder
• Talking to you, you, you and you!
• The woods
• Hmm...appreciation.
• Playing hot hands
• Reading poetry
• Eating out, travelling, eating out, travelling. 
• Looking at the moon.

Gosh. It's plain and clear, a six day work week is injurious to health.