Mumbai!

If asked to write about the Saturday that went by, had it not been for this computer and keyboard (the backspace and delete keys mostly), there would've been a lot of ripping from the writing pad, and crumbled parches of paper, tossed hither and thither.

If asked to describe the cliche of the 'spirit of mumbai', (after a long pause).. possibly there is nothing, which is more abstract and less absurd, that could elucidate the existence of this city.

If asked what took my breath away; that'd be the sight of this;

If asked, what would be that one thing that left an enduring impression, that would possibly be the radiance that emanates from the monuments, the sheer volume of the time that has passed by, the thought that these structures did stand witness to all of the past, good and horrific alike.

If asked, would I visit (south mumbai) again; ah yes, possibly too soon.

an obsolete leash.

An old man, a drum, an impressive bull, leashed.

A glance at them together, a quick click, all is well, now leave.

He expects a coin or two, mom hands out the money, the animal is docile, all is well...
I hear mom saying, "photo dakhavu ka tumhala?" ("would you like to see the picture?"). me, shocked: oh no!
okay step forward, take a decent picture, the old man's forehead wrinkles, this is not his usual day at work. There is silence, the sound of the camera adjusting focus, the shutter closes, I can't read his mind, is he smiling?



About 4 seconds later, the bull starts to sway his head, animatedly almost vigourously now, old man turns to look at his tamed beast, he is amused. We are in its path, but we guess it does not mean to charge at us. The animal has sensed that his master is happy, and that has it expressing joy. They are happy, we smile.
Shutter closes, a step towards them, I put my hand forward, holding the camera out to show him the picture, the bull comes closer too, his wet nose is of the size of my open palm, am afraid that he'd lick my wrist and the camera, all in one swoosh.. the old man pulls the camera nearer, then looks up at me, grins, a toothless grin, a truthful one.

I manage a 'thank you'. We turn and walk away.
As we leave, we hear his drum being played, the sound of the stick rubbed not beaten, zwugu bugu zwugu, bells ringing, the pet is happy.

An old man, a toothless smile, a pet, an obsolete leash.

the colour of..

the colour of...the sun, on a cool October afternoon, of water trickling down a cracked coconut shell, the colour of sunshine and water..

the sprinkled welcome colours on the floor, of the little things that symbolize diwali..

a sleepless night, of swaying leaves that keep company..

of the morning and flowers yet to bloom..

of drenched resolve, to hold on, to stay..

and of courage.

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it is dark..

why do we... stay up late and wake up too soon,


... notice only the blatantly conspicuous..



... and.. cease to love when it seems to blind.

dreams are made of..

you comprise of stars and shadows, and make both seem awesome.


you sprinkle rain drops, which trickle to form tiny trinkets on petals, when my world seems too big and boggling.



you create miracles when my heart grows devoid of wonder.

and then I amuse myself, pondering, what dreams may be made of?

Shravan..

There is this something endearing about the month of August and Shravan, about cold rainy nights and faith.. and about Janmastami and Ganesh Chaturthi.

When mum stays up until 12 o’clock at night and is all glad about it too, the aroma of jaggery and agarbatti fills the house, a funny feeling makes one feel fine :) that is when we mortals believe, God would be born, again!


When water proof canopies are raised by men who, at times, have leaking roofs in their own homes..
when cacophonous, cranky old speakers blare hymns throughout the day, and then exhausted, at a melodiously low speaker volume late into the night..
when little children, swelling with pride, serve as volunteers to escort elders in and out of pandals, place the prasad on each ones palms..
when the grin on an old man’s face seems to somehow make you believe, that God certainly shall stay in his house for a few days, that’s when you’d know, it is Ganesh Chaturthi!

Tomorrow's promise.

I've been wanting to talk you, there is just so much to say.
although you only stare at me briefly, and then look away.



This morning when you slammed your book shut, and were tempted to yell,
was it not obvious that they'd understand, if only you'd tell.

I only wish for you to breathe slower, sit down and smile,

to know that there is more to this... than just running the mile.

... to give, to listen, to wait for them to talk,

to not trot away, the day a friend couldn't help but slowly walk.

For which it is only this day, for me is all of what to say,

If only I had that promise of a tomorrow, I wonder if I'd live in a similar way.

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