Mastodon Bones

 

1. It was blazing . It had been like that since six am .
   Actually rocky .And dusty . Dust bowl kind of a place . With outcroppings , sudden undulations . There was not even a clear road to follow , for Christ’s sake .
   “How do you navigate this woebegone place ?” She wailed for the nth time .
   “Here “. He tapped his head dramatically . ” It is all in here. All the maps you’ll ever need . All the weather charts . ” He smiled , a lips-caked-with -dust smile . Happy , nevertheless.
   “How can you be so happy ? And so arrogant ? All the time ?” She skipped to keep up with him . Panting slightly . He was annoying but the only human in this vast waste . What was she doing here ? With a cro-magnon man for company ? Who didn’t mind dust and sun and treeless , lifeless moonscape they were trudging on .
   Actually , he was walking . Steadily . Plonk , plonk , his huge stick hit the hard earth.
   She was just surviving . Slowly following his lead , in his giant shadow.
   He didn’t answer . He rarely spoke . Saving his energies . Another survival skill she lacked .
   She spoke too much . She thought . She speaks too much . he thought . 

   A kite swirled lazily overhead. Slowly whistling . She shaded her eyes and looked up . If it was a giant kite , it could mistake us for rats. She looked at the outcrop looming ahead . A sun bleached , white , undulating , lifeless mass of caked dirt .
   She wondered what the kite ate , in order to survive. That thought prompted hunger . Thoughtlessly , she ran a tongue on her parched lips . And immediately tasted the desert .Salt and sand and dust . “Ptooi” , she spat noisily . Another mistake . He had spoken on the necessity to not spit . Conserve body fluids . 

   “Water ?” He spoke finally . Framed against the outcropping , he looked askance at her . She shook her head . Being brave . Saving water .Precious , life giving fluid.

   She looked up , and saw something terribly familiar , and terribly out of place . The unmistakable globe of a femoral head , white, bleached , gigantic , sticking out of the outcropping . The shaft concealed in dirt . Eroded but a bone , nevertheless. 

   “Mastodon bone !” She shrieked .
   “Where ?” He whirled around startled as if she had seen a snake .
   “There ” She pointed to the outcropping behind him .
   “What ? No !! That be rocks ”
   “No rocks .” Rejuvenated by the sight , she raced ahead of him . Dislodging pebble showers , she nimbly climbed up , cupped her trembling palms around the mound , triumphantly announcing ” I told you !!” 

   He sighed . He knew the signs . Trusted her instincts. Whisking out the walkie-talkie , he barked some commands . A team was on the way.

The last lap

 Bones creak upon 

raising 

Aching of bone 

complaining 

the face smiles 

enduring 

grey hair flies

fleeing 

time ticks and tocks 

unrelenting 

skin wrinkles 

withering 

crinkles 

crackles 

cracks 

breaks 

how a colossus 

disintegrates 

how you fall to your knees

crumpled 

by time 

propelled 

life pushes 

us 

towards 

the finishing line 

day after day 

 I drag my footstep 

in searing pain 

step after step 

slow agony 

no sprinting across 

even when in plain sight 

  

Life's lessons from fruit flies

 Yesterday , I saw a bunch of fruit flies . No , they weren't sitting on rotting fruits . They were crowded around my bathroom drain . 

That taught me my lesson number one , Be adventurous . Think out of the box . Food may not always be served on the dining table . 

I sprayed a fluid called harpic , which recently , is being sold in red plastic bottles , smells great , is clear , transparent . It avows to "cleanse bathroom of all germs ". To rub it in , I used the toilet brush . Scrub , scrub , shine , glisten rather . The tiles acquired a holy white hue. The flies disappeared .

Lesson number two , stay away from aggressive predators. Vexations to the spirit , or body , or mind , or all three.  

By evening , the flies were back . In the unscrubbed corner .

Lesson number three, do not shy away from danger . There might be food ( read , opportunities ) in the next corner , round the bend .

I scrubbed the entire floor , the nooks , crannies , crevasses , everywhere , humanely and arthritically possible . 

They returned back , next morning . Full blast , entire tribe , possibly even the neighboring ones  . 

Lesson number four . Persistence . Dont give up . 

Lesson number five . Do not be picky  . Keep your expectations low . 

Postings

 Moving is inevitable for us ,

Hence nothing grows
beneath our feet
I mean , the grass .

Pack your bags , helter skelter
Some organised souls
Have an army of helpers
Fold and pack , avoid jitters

We imitate and try hard
Paint , label and stow ,
Lumps swallowed hard
All chaos , no order to show

I still forget where is which
The labels stay , contents dont
All ends up , hotch potch
Meagre trunks , pots , clutch

Trucks arrive and leave , hurry

All heave and scurry

Possessions depart in a flurry
Petrol fumes , tears , goodbyes , vision blurry

We must depart , sooner
Make haste , don’t linger
Uproot and tear
I’ll move if he does , oh dear

There germinates a thought
forget -me -nots
Vagabonds, are we not ?
Very existence fraught

Lack of permanence .
In essence
Evanescence

Plants !!

 Sometime halfway through into the lockdown , he was bitten with the gardening bug .

He wanted to plant coriander seeds .
Lot of coriander seeds went to waste this way . Some the birds ate , mistaking them for birdseed . Some by an overenthusiastic follower , who planted individual seeds in the egg bowls of a biodegradable egg carton . “Brilliant idea !!” Exclaimed everyone , on her face and on whatsapp .
Unwatered , the egg carton was to be their grave yard .
Now , we have followed every rule in the book .
Soaked the seeds overnight .
Prepped the soil ( not too sandy , neither too clayey , just right amount of compost ) .
Less shade initial few days of their life . ( an old orange scarf to deflect harsh noon sun )
Protection from birds . (Shoo them off their favourite perches )
Now every morning , we hear a glad shout ” Plants ” !!
They are just about 2 inches tall and they are visited , counted ,watered , and proudly shown off.
Who says plants do not rule our lives ?

Paradox

 I am hanging 

holding the clapper 

of my own life's bell 

thereby 

with every breath

I ring my own 

death 

knell .

The moment 

your heart 

begins to beat 

or your lungs 

pump air 

It is only fair 

that you 

yourself 

begin 

your  own 

countdown 

On wearing a mask

 Wearing a mask

An unenviable task

Has taught me much

Common sense and such

I  humbly learnt

Garden bad breath

And abominable fart 

Are not so different

It is easy to mistake

One for the other 

Of similar make

Arising from the gut(ter)

Of being able to breathe 

One's own exhaled breath

Back again .

Is like wearing one's own wreath

Parading 

The paradox .

halitosis 

Hail to thee.