Saturday, 17 December 2016
Ear Worms
Ear worms are like gramophone records stuck at one place , going over and over again . They irk me , and disrupt my train of thought , and speech .
My kids reprimand me , “Mom , seriously , not those lines again . ”
It requires conscious effort ( and energy ) to shut it (and oneself ) up.
Phew ! I hate ad jingles .
Moreover I hate praising some thermal underwear, in words of undiluted adulation (“Sooo Hottt!!”) , when I am whisking eggs and toasting bread for breakfast , on an icy winter morning , when I actually need to be grumpy for having abandoned my “oh so hott ” bed.
My kids reprimand me , “Mom , seriously , not those lines again . ”
It requires conscious effort ( and energy ) to shut it (and oneself ) up.
Phew ! I hate ad jingles .
Moreover I hate praising some thermal underwear, in words of undiluted adulation (“Sooo Hottt!!”) , when I am whisking eggs and toasting bread for breakfast , on an icy winter morning , when I actually need to be grumpy for having abandoned my “oh so hott ” bed.
Thursday, 15 December 2016
Ah , my sweet dream
I dreamt I was at sea
As peaceful as I could be
Only waters to see
And oh the utter glee
No moaning elderlies
No glowering orderlies
No groans , no bells
No uro- fecal smells
No multinational speech
Only pristine beach
No cross-border phone conversations
Interfering with siestas and ablutions
No homeworks or tutions
No earth shattering ambitions
No night long wailings
No never ending flailings
No medicines, injections
No treatises on phones
No one telling you're wrong
No non stop interjections
No strange tongues
Invading your home
No agony prolong(ed)
No where to call one's own
No alien cuisine
invading your kitchen
No alien apps, device
shelling out free advise
No sleepless nights,
No drug induced yawns
No fancy flights ,
No pathetic pile-ons
Just the sand and water
The sea and the sea farer
On an island,ah,to be marooned
Never to be "rescued" or found
As peaceful as I could be
Only waters to see
And oh the utter glee
No moaning elderlies
No glowering orderlies
No groans , no bells
No uro- fecal smells
No multinational speech
Only pristine beach
No cross-border phone conversations
Interfering with siestas and ablutions
No homeworks or tutions
No earth shattering ambitions
No night long wailings
No never ending flailings
No medicines, injections
No treatises on phones
No one telling you're wrong
No non stop interjections
No strange tongues
Invading your home
No agony prolong(ed)
No where to call one's own
No alien cuisine
invading your kitchen
No alien apps, device
shelling out free advise
No sleepless nights,
No drug induced yawns
No fancy flights ,
No pathetic pile-ons
Just the sand and water
The sea and the sea farer
On an island,ah,to be marooned
Never to be "rescued" or found
Wednesday, 14 December 2016
Catheterization after years of inexperience
I waged a war
against my fear
had a serious altercation
of a dubious intention
I called it names
sent it packing
I told myself the same
not to panic , licking
my dry lips
got to work
Those damned tips
where are they ?(jerks)
Cursed myself
swore loud
wiped my sweat
off the brow
It was upto me now
time was ripe somehow
who decides these things
the surprise that spring(s)
The apprehension
and unbearable tension
Phew!! It is done
Hurray !! press the piston
Fill the balloon
tug the bloody thing
Thank God !It is on
bag it with a song
The fluid coming out
is clear , straw spout
Hallelujah!Amen
never was the sight of urine
flowing into catheter
such a sight , for
eyes , sleepless and sore
Praise the Lor'
against my fear
had a serious altercation
of a dubious intention
I called it names
sent it packing
I told myself the same
not to panic , licking
my dry lips
got to work
Those damned tips
where are they ?(jerks)
Cursed myself
swore loud
wiped my sweat
off the brow
It was upto me now
time was ripe somehow
who decides these things
the surprise that spring(s)
The apprehension
and unbearable tension
Phew!! It is done
Hurray !! press the piston
Fill the balloon
tug the bloody thing
Thank God !It is on
bag it with a song
The fluid coming out
is clear , straw spout
Hallelujah!Amen
never was the sight of urine
flowing into catheter
such a sight , for
eyes , sleepless and sore
Praise the Lor'
The fog
A groan that escapes
like a prisoner
a sullen
a sullen
rhythm
becomes
a kinder, gentler
fallen
anthem.
Non-stop, beat
like a
wretched
tattoo
"hai ma"
"hai ma"
every breath
in an agony wreath
Medicines
pave a path
dubious ,
the morn seems
clear
and oh-so
dear
Suddenly out of
nowhere
fog descends
and all is unclear
no path
no road
no landmark
visible
all is cloaked
in foggy
uncertainty
again
nature
and its vagaries
have thumbed their
collective noses again
at you
and you
and you
for it has won
again
and you are lost
oh-so lost
in the fog
Tuesday, 13 December 2016
Short tales on the road
$$$$$$$$
I drove along
a one way road ,
Lots of others
passed me by .
They were all in a reverse
direction .
They all stared at me
as if I was in the wrong .
I wondered
If I was right .
For I was alone .
Not with the crowd
$$$$$$$$$$
A young man
with a stern
mien
swerved
in front
came to a halt
right next
to the guy
in front
I thought
"O God! A fight "
They each unclasped a gloved fist
and shook hands , in the mist
long lost friends
making amends
on the road-bend .
$$$$$$$$$$$
They build a fire
a huge bonfire
of spare
tire
The flames roared high
licking
the sky
they sat clicking
selfie
clinking bottles
on a car hood
the throttle
silenced
the tires
flattened
$$$$$$$$$$$$
On my way to
my destination
I burnt all the bridges
to discourage detection
Now that I have
retraced my steps
I find it hard
stepping on still
glowing
embers
singeing
my soul
$$$$$$$$$$$$$
She was like grass
that fought for space
with underbrush and moss
growing in the shade
of a massive shady spruce
Often trampled
brushed
crushed
bruised
She rose her head
again and again
silenced
to be heard
by the only few
who remained
sane
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
Girls poised
on the brink of
womanhood
of straightened hair
nose sculpted
who joke in the roads ,
wink , nudge
and stray
like so much
laughter
cattle for slaughter
in the middle
of the road
visible and fluid
like
cow-urine puddle
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
They poured
out
on the road ,
in numbers unprecedented
I had not
realised
there
were so many
of them
disguised
as
plain friends and gents
before I could flee
Some one whispered
"Happy Halloween."
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
The road kill
had been dragged
off
a smudge remained
rest of the
traffic
continued
to rush
smearing their
tire treads
with
someone else's
sin
and someone's else's
blood.
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
Thursday, 1 December 2016
Mrs. Lohal
In this colony ,being mentioned, there are special sprawling bungalows for the super-rich , medium sized flats for the middle -class , and match box apartments for the nearly have -nots.
There are very few occupants in the super-rich category . Most buyers , live abroad , come once in a blue moon , get the house cleaned , driveway hosed , heavily -tip the maids /ayahs/ watchman / mali , (thereby angering the perennial residents ) , take selfies in hastily cut lawns , and leave in a cloud of dust , before you can say NRI.
One visible exception was Mrs. Lohal .
She might as well have lived in Beverly hills .She was an emblem of decorum and propriety. She had white , alabaster skin and wore a gigantic string of pearls with dresses that were impossible to place. Trousers and shirt which emitted gossamer fabric , of various hues , at regular intervals. That , plus her short statured , hunch backed , slightly bulging midriff , would make her look like an exotic species of gold fish.
She had puffy eyes , due , as the grapevine went , to her fondness for a peg or two , at sundown . With her false eyelashes , batting as she spoke , her eyes resembled twin igloos , or barrels of mini-cannons , shooting a steely glare , capable of felling lesser mortals. One could almost hear the faint booming sounds , while she fixed you with her stare of disapproval.
Her husband was a most ordinary mortal . Balding , paunchy , and ill-dressed , he wore the rubber soles of his cheap slippers , working at some clerkdom (the grapevine again ), in some mofussil town , on the edge of nowhere. She was embarrassed of him , and was never seen in his company. He would down vast amounts of alcohol , never wipe his mouth , burp loudly , in mixed company , and enjoy ribald jokes , his paunch shaking , jelly-like.In short , he outraged her , and took special pleasure , in doing so.
She would emerge from her self-imposed hibernation , only when he had been safely sent away , to whichever dusty realm, he had emerged from , like a hoary ghost . When asked about his next visit , she would sniff the air with disdain , shoot one of her famous black looks , through her twin igloos , and say , woundedly "Let's see." Then she would ignore the questioner , for the rest of the evening.
The most iconic scene was her evening walk . Mrs. Lohal was hunchbacked and shortsighted , hence she walked with short steps , her gaze fixed on the pavement. Her shoes were metal shod , and sounded clackety -clack , sharp , on the concrete pavement . They almost made everyone run for cover , or brace for an approaching calamity. Her mono chromatic lenses turned black in the tropical sun , and gave her the look of a spy looking for clues in the dirt .Her shuffling gait , elaborate dress and outlandish manners would often invite sneers from kids , irreverently uninhibited .
She had once caught hold of few kids and lectured them about the importance of greeting adults , and of proper attire . This made her fall further , in their eyes. They would either stop their game to gawp at her , or burst into boisterous , cruel laughter , that only kids are capable of .
Never having had kids of her own , Mrs. Lohal viewed them as a serious aberration , a pestilence that merited eradication , like cockroaches . She raised her walls , so that their sneers , shouts and laughter wouldn't reach her , nor would they trample on her immaculate lawn grass , or Belgian petunias, looking for some infernal ball.
Mrs. Lohal had a driver called Deep. An ordinary kind of a chap , he bicycled to her door , each morning , washed , dried the car , shook out the foot mats and sat picking his nose/teeth for the rest of the day , awaiting his orders. The car, a ten-year old Toyota, was driven out to the college everyday , during Mrs. Lohal's lecturer ship days , but sat now , undriven , as she had retired , and had nowhere to go really. Occasionally ,Deep would drive her to the city club , clad in her trademark gossamer finery , pearls and leaving the driveway awash with Chanel.
Two months into her retirement, Deep asked her if he could wash the car of the school teacher , who lived in the flats . She reluctantly consented , as he had little to do throughout the day. This quickly resulted in him washing the entire colony's cars. He would be occupied the entire morning, washing people's cars , and rest of the day , enjoying tea, snacks , gossip with maids , and other forms of hospitality , severely frowned upon by Mrs. Lohal. She had never so much as offered him a chair , leave alone tea . She spoke to him in grunts and monosyllables , as for her , Deep was just an instrument for being driven around . Nothing more . Mr . Lohal , in contrast , would sneak a smoke with him , and occasionally ask him his doings , when Mrs. Lohal was not looking , of course.
Mrs. Lohal was looking for reasons to sack him , and vice-versa . Both had become redundant to each other . She , one day , called Deep, and told him to stop coming from the next day, gave him his monthly salary; spread a silver coloured car cover , rather clumsily; and shut herself in . It became known that he used to keep his new acquisition , a smart phone ,on Toyota's car roof , and when it rang , it vibrated and thereby left scratches , on the roof . It was a flimsy excuse. Mrs. Lohal was suspicious of smart phones , and people , who were obviously smarter than her, to be able to use it . The watchman , wisely , stowed his way , in time , and came within hair-breadths to being sacked.
Then , one stormy night , an ambulance roared up the driveway. The headlamps threw its intrusive light into many a curtained bedroom (including Mrs. Lohal's ) , and everyone came to know , that some thing had happened in 6A, Mrs.Lohal's home .Someone was brought out on a stretcher , doors were slammed shut, and the ambulance drove away , leaving pelting hailstones and lot of questions in its wake . The storm uprooted giant trees and whiplashed the lampposts , windows with severed powerlines . Serious damage was inflicted , and almost no one was spared . Mrs Lohal's car stood in the shade of a mighty eucalyptus . That night , the hysterical winds pulled the giant from its moorings and flung it across the silver -shrouded Toyota.The car just crumpled up.
Only when the last of the fallen boughs had been towed away , power restored , and broken windowpanes replaced , that people turned their focus on 6A and its missing occupants. The Toyota company insurers had come , in the meanwhile , and had the crushed car towed away .
Mrs. Lohal had suffered a fall in the bathroom , and sustained several fractures . They healed , over a painfully long period of time , and she had to move in with her husband , whom she so despised , in the mofussil town , whom no one had ever heard of .
6A was put up for sale , with its thick velvet draperies , silk cushions , sprawling lawn and forbidding , towering walls. The new occupant , was a nouveau riche , the class again despised by Mrs.Lohal , drove around in a Tata indica , and had an enormous family move into the premises . The walls were torn down ,and extensions built onto the pristine lawns .
6A transformed from a cream coloured confection of a palace , to multicolored hues of throbbing disco lights , with millions of children running in and out , boarding buses , playing indoors , breaking china , and creating raucous rampage , where once silence resided .
The schoolteacher revealed that he saw the Lohals , once , greyed , and shrivelled , driving in a diminutive car , driven by none other than balding , paunchy , Mr Lohal . He swears Mrs. Lohal actually smiled and waved at him .
He could be imagining things , too, as didn't Deep narrate the story other day , of Mrs. Lohal gifting his newly wedded wife , a monstrous string of real, white pearls.
There are very few occupants in the super-rich category . Most buyers , live abroad , come once in a blue moon , get the house cleaned , driveway hosed , heavily -tip the maids /ayahs/ watchman / mali , (thereby angering the perennial residents ) , take selfies in hastily cut lawns , and leave in a cloud of dust , before you can say NRI.
One visible exception was Mrs. Lohal .
She might as well have lived in Beverly hills .She was an emblem of decorum and propriety. She had white , alabaster skin and wore a gigantic string of pearls with dresses that were impossible to place. Trousers and shirt which emitted gossamer fabric , of various hues , at regular intervals. That , plus her short statured , hunch backed , slightly bulging midriff , would make her look like an exotic species of gold fish.
She had puffy eyes , due , as the grapevine went , to her fondness for a peg or two , at sundown . With her false eyelashes , batting as she spoke , her eyes resembled twin igloos , or barrels of mini-cannons , shooting a steely glare , capable of felling lesser mortals. One could almost hear the faint booming sounds , while she fixed you with her stare of disapproval.
Her husband was a most ordinary mortal . Balding , paunchy , and ill-dressed , he wore the rubber soles of his cheap slippers , working at some clerkdom (the grapevine again ), in some mofussil town , on the edge of nowhere. She was embarrassed of him , and was never seen in his company. He would down vast amounts of alcohol , never wipe his mouth , burp loudly , in mixed company , and enjoy ribald jokes , his paunch shaking , jelly-like.In short , he outraged her , and took special pleasure , in doing so.
She would emerge from her self-imposed hibernation , only when he had been safely sent away , to whichever dusty realm, he had emerged from , like a hoary ghost . When asked about his next visit , she would sniff the air with disdain , shoot one of her famous black looks , through her twin igloos , and say , woundedly "Let's see." Then she would ignore the questioner , for the rest of the evening.
The most iconic scene was her evening walk . Mrs. Lohal was hunchbacked and shortsighted , hence she walked with short steps , her gaze fixed on the pavement. Her shoes were metal shod , and sounded clackety -clack , sharp , on the concrete pavement . They almost made everyone run for cover , or brace for an approaching calamity. Her mono chromatic lenses turned black in the tropical sun , and gave her the look of a spy looking for clues in the dirt .Her shuffling gait , elaborate dress and outlandish manners would often invite sneers from kids , irreverently uninhibited .
She had once caught hold of few kids and lectured them about the importance of greeting adults , and of proper attire . This made her fall further , in their eyes. They would either stop their game to gawp at her , or burst into boisterous , cruel laughter , that only kids are capable of .
Never having had kids of her own , Mrs. Lohal viewed them as a serious aberration , a pestilence that merited eradication , like cockroaches . She raised her walls , so that their sneers , shouts and laughter wouldn't reach her , nor would they trample on her immaculate lawn grass , or Belgian petunias, looking for some infernal ball.
Mrs. Lohal had a driver called Deep. An ordinary kind of a chap , he bicycled to her door , each morning , washed , dried the car , shook out the foot mats and sat picking his nose/teeth for the rest of the day , awaiting his orders. The car, a ten-year old Toyota, was driven out to the college everyday , during Mrs. Lohal's lecturer ship days , but sat now , undriven , as she had retired , and had nowhere to go really. Occasionally ,Deep would drive her to the city club , clad in her trademark gossamer finery , pearls and leaving the driveway awash with Chanel.
Two months into her retirement, Deep asked her if he could wash the car of the school teacher , who lived in the flats . She reluctantly consented , as he had little to do throughout the day. This quickly resulted in him washing the entire colony's cars. He would be occupied the entire morning, washing people's cars , and rest of the day , enjoying tea, snacks , gossip with maids , and other forms of hospitality , severely frowned upon by Mrs. Lohal. She had never so much as offered him a chair , leave alone tea . She spoke to him in grunts and monosyllables , as for her , Deep was just an instrument for being driven around . Nothing more . Mr . Lohal , in contrast , would sneak a smoke with him , and occasionally ask him his doings , when Mrs. Lohal was not looking , of course.
Mrs. Lohal was looking for reasons to sack him , and vice-versa . Both had become redundant to each other . She , one day , called Deep, and told him to stop coming from the next day, gave him his monthly salary; spread a silver coloured car cover , rather clumsily; and shut herself in . It became known that he used to keep his new acquisition , a smart phone ,on Toyota's car roof , and when it rang , it vibrated and thereby left scratches , on the roof . It was a flimsy excuse. Mrs. Lohal was suspicious of smart phones , and people , who were obviously smarter than her, to be able to use it . The watchman , wisely , stowed his way , in time , and came within hair-breadths to being sacked.
Then , one stormy night , an ambulance roared up the driveway. The headlamps threw its intrusive light into many a curtained bedroom (including Mrs. Lohal's ) , and everyone came to know , that some thing had happened in 6A, Mrs.Lohal's home .Someone was brought out on a stretcher , doors were slammed shut, and the ambulance drove away , leaving pelting hailstones and lot of questions in its wake . The storm uprooted giant trees and whiplashed the lampposts , windows with severed powerlines . Serious damage was inflicted , and almost no one was spared . Mrs Lohal's car stood in the shade of a mighty eucalyptus . That night , the hysterical winds pulled the giant from its moorings and flung it across the silver -shrouded Toyota.The car just crumpled up.
Only when the last of the fallen boughs had been towed away , power restored , and broken windowpanes replaced , that people turned their focus on 6A and its missing occupants. The Toyota company insurers had come , in the meanwhile , and had the crushed car towed away .
Mrs. Lohal had suffered a fall in the bathroom , and sustained several fractures . They healed , over a painfully long period of time , and she had to move in with her husband , whom she so despised , in the mofussil town , whom no one had ever heard of .
6A was put up for sale , with its thick velvet draperies , silk cushions , sprawling lawn and forbidding , towering walls. The new occupant , was a nouveau riche , the class again despised by Mrs.Lohal , drove around in a Tata indica , and had an enormous family move into the premises . The walls were torn down ,and extensions built onto the pristine lawns .
6A transformed from a cream coloured confection of a palace , to multicolored hues of throbbing disco lights , with millions of children running in and out , boarding buses , playing indoors , breaking china , and creating raucous rampage , where once silence resided .
The schoolteacher revealed that he saw the Lohals , once , greyed , and shrivelled , driving in a diminutive car , driven by none other than balding , paunchy , Mr Lohal . He swears Mrs. Lohal actually smiled and waved at him .
He could be imagining things , too, as didn't Deep narrate the story other day , of Mrs. Lohal gifting his newly wedded wife , a monstrous string of real, white pearls.
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You keep coming back for a re-read , again and again . You memorise passages , and incidents . The characters live , breathe with you.
They do not just live in the print .
You are a spectator to the story , unfolding in the arena of your consciousness , like a battle being watched from the side lines , like a meadow of your dreams , like a song sung from the depths of your soul.
It lives with you , and is probably bequeathed (one would hope so, ) to your kids as you recount “Adventures of Tom Sawyer /Huckleberry Finn ” or Enid Blyton’s Famous Five to sleepy eyed kids drifting into dreamlands of their own.