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.
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.
7 comments:
Welcome Back, Mrs. Zacharias :)
I was waiting for one of these. This post is so totally you.
<3.
great to see you back after a long long time. And in your new avatar :-) im
@ mishree: My name remains unchanged :) But thanks for waiting for a post and appreciating :)
@IM: Hey! You're still following my blog :D Yes, its been long. New avatar or not, the person remains the same :-)
I pressed next as an easy/lazy way to get back to my dashboard and ended up reading this post, I relate to it so well. I feel so whimsical and irresponsible too! I feel like I hate and love society during the summer, I got that vibe from this post and I'm very interested. You have my attention. :) Beautifully expressed.
@name in progress: I'm glad you lazily hit the wrong button which got you here! :) I don't know if you've experience Indian summers but yes, they make me whimsical too! Thank you for taking a moment to read and to write to me :-)
ofcourse i do.... Its just that i choose to wear my clock of invisibility :p -im
i came across ur blog, as i clicked on next.. loved ur writing., n thus instantly followin too.. keep writing.. cheers..
do drop by my blog sumtime "written words"
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