UN-sundays...was supposed to put this up, on Sunday...but, let the bird fly anyway!

It is yet another Sunday. Well, more precisely put, it’s a freer Sunday than most other drab week-ends, for it happens to be the Independence Day Sunday. At least that’s what the tri-colour hair dyed model, beaming from the covers of my morning newspapers tells me. But, again, that’s the least of my concerns.

Today, since the time I woke up,(hardly an hour) it’s been all industrially grey clouds around. Ah yes, another set of my poems has been inducted in the Sunday papers. Good. But who cares. I don’t.

No, I do!

Today, is uncannily grey, with streaks of broken white in the sky, just like the mascara streaked face of a friend, when she cried torrents as our last farewell party at college got over. She calls me her, only bestest friend. She hasn’t called me since. Ha ha.

And then, there are always the little scopes of tragedies and tragic musings, interspersing our daily itinerary of worldly observations? Well, I have my own little couplets of fatalistic brooding this Independence Day weekend.

Today has been the second, congruent day, in a single week, I have accidentally and quite heart-ached-ly witnessed two child funerals, with a lapse of a day in between.

Both, fathers, carried their small soft bundles of dreams and accolades, in coarse, suffocating sheets of the last clothing. Their arms delicately wound around small smile-less bodies, warm and womb-like.

Their arms delicately wombing, little heads and backs, delicate and careful, lest they should wake up? Wishing they could wake up? Their silent stoic tears, burnt on their faces, as the grey morning sun, brushed their faces.

The small mounds in coarse white clothes were all disciplined and silent.

Asleep. Dreaming. Asleep. Never to wake up.

Some dreams are born

Some dreams are born in sleep.

Some dreams never wake up.

The day when my status was 666

This has been the second half of a jaded quartet of a month. The second consecutive week of me refraining from any, mind you any outdoor ventures. This quite UN-ashamedly includes, not going to university, (which I have just been latched onto) not attending cultural gatherings, not turning up to meet friends, some of whom will be leaving/have left town, not answering calls, not replying to texts, and worst of all, not smiling that often…

Its been about 4 months since I completed studies and stuff, and a month since I started the successive second half of my, well, studies!!!

But somehow, somethings, are just not over for me, or lets say, somethings have not yet begun,

and well the rest of it, am still waiting for it to happen.

I don’t know though, that something I am waiting for.

But I know it quite clearly, absolutely crystal.

This crystal, shows me my future, and works quite effectively on weekday afternoons... 

~~~~

It’s all smiling faces, everywhere around, trying to make shiny and ample little fireflies smile, which hide and seek with the sun, and often roost beneath stolen glances.

Often, these cellophane smiles are too welcoming, too alluring, and sometimes, the cellophane smiles, crunch into crisp wisps of whispers, hushed and loud, often putting my vaulted self into the spot-light.

I don't like being put into the light, unless the switch is in my hand.

They are always bent on welcoming me, and nagging at me to talk, laugh, smile and roost with them. They all talk, always sky-wards, no one ever looks into no-ones eyes,...never,ever.

They never glance, or gaze at what is placed before them, a sheepish screen of smoke and childishly bartered imbecilities hangs between them. Between all of them.

As I said, they always speak upwards, sometimes; I wonder whether they are speaking to God. They might also be cushioning tears, and sending them back, just like they did the night before, while masking themselves with their pillows.

They always sit in a circle, quite like an orange, or perhaps Jupiter? They also have satellites of sheepish smokers, who pass-the-pillows, with imbecility slab. They all wear brittle glasses to shield their eyes, even on a cloudy day. They all strum chords, and sip coffee to keep the ritual growing. They all wear glasses, but even with a pair more, they can never really look into the eyes, into each others eyes,

And the greatest conversations are thus left out.

~~

The week will grow up, will crawl and ultimately stand on its feet. And the week will beckon me. I will get up, take a bath, get dressed, line my eyes with dark dark kohl, and then, just when I am about to leave, I will…

Just not leave…

Maybe tomorrow, then?

Okay then, 3-2-1...

So today’s yet another Tuesday…one whole week of pure unadulterated laziness. I have bunked university, quite uncharacteristically. I have watched TV, like ancient star gazers surfed the sky for new galaxies. I have devoted more time on my laptop, than Tim Berners Lee, Orkut Boyukokten and Bill Gates mashed together, and I have come up with no new network gizmo, thankfully, so no new Frankenstein’s like me hopefully!!!


~~~

The sky rumbled. Lights went out…again…

~~

I stood at the evening window then…street-lights vibrated like retro disco bulbs outside. And the breeze, the breeze had never been more kind and balmy than this. Smooth and filtering, a vast monsoon weather, a weather so vast, made me feel by the side of a beach or a mountain top…it was so vast, so un-city like and so beautiful…I closed my eyes and a shy little drop of happy tear broke free.

~

And then, the current was restored and the lights came back. I rushed to my station on the couch in front of the TV, and the ritual star-gazing was thus resumed.

~~~~

The sky has shed most of her weight and tears, with me waning by her side, and both of us have come to no new conclusions.



Although I have been thinking a lot…

Although I have been dreaming a lot



Still both of us have come to no new conclusions.