The rain teased the city yesterday. After the schorching heat, it was regalement.
Holding a steaming coffee, I sat by my window, gazing and admiring the crystals being formed by the water droplets on the leaves of the gooseberry tree. I could hear Dency talking loudly on her mobile in her room. Come sun, rain, hail or snow, she remain married to her cell for better or for worse.
Juxtapositioned myself with the rain. I see a glimmer of hope and when I reach out, it always vanishes. Life teases me! Alone in this city, no family, no relatives, trying to carve a niche for myself. I sometimes wonder, if it is worth it? What have I gained or lost in the bargain?
How lonely you could get even in a crowd! After Jenny vacated, I never got close to anybody though I am a secret pot for many of them. Life teases me, she teases me too.
SMSed to someone to whom I meant more than something sometime back. The reply came, 'I am fine. Infact, couldn't be better.' Hurt or nonchalance? I didn't know, I didn't want to know. All I knew was that something in me had died too, maybe my spirit on a rainy day.
Drifted to my childhood, my salad days, carefree and careless. Paper boats, fishes swimming down the drain and mama scolding us lest we fall sick. Two big brothers to look up to and a big sis to defend all my sinister acts. Not that I was spared the rod, I got my fair share of it. But, I was papa's pet and the kitchen queen.
I grew up in front of the mirror. Second brother used to comment that if there was one more mirror in that room, I would never come out of it.
Then there was sis drumming the table and making me sing out loud everytime our neighbour started her singing lessons. We were devils.
Eldest brother would wake me up quitely at night (to avoid dad scolding him for disturbing my sleep) to catch my favourite Deigo Maradona playing the world cup. He would prepare tea and snacks and I would finish them.
My hero is fighting for his life due to a coronary heart attack. I pray for his speedy recovery. His career escalated during 1975 to 1997. Always in the papers for the wrong reasons like Michael Jackson. Bad life or a weak conscience but a good person for me and many of his fans. I supported him then and I support him now.
I recuperated from my wayward thoughts of the past and the present.
Childhood days, I still wish I could relive them.
Bruised knees are easier to heal than a broken heart.
1 comment:
I am not a critic nor a artist though my instinct says you are not a parvenu in the domain of lines/words.Sufficient thoughts, clear expressions.....
candidly me at a loss of words.....I asked myself if i could read between the lines....and i told to myself ....she has HURT inside her.....PAIN inside her which bloats out only in her words.Cherishing your childhood days only provides a temporary relief to what has gone wrong,what is going wrong and what will go wrong.....
Keep Writing....You speak the feelings of,if not many, one person's sentiments.....that's me.
Post a Comment