Chiffonesque

At times, it feels like the world is floating away on a peacock feather. On something light, airy and midnight blue. There we are, on a perfect, iridescent filament. It will come to life with the first hint of moistness in the air. The world feels grand and opulent. The world feels like it’s floating away on the impeccable virtuosity of Mughal taste. Floating away to find ourselves perched on a cathedra that announces the invincibility of beauty. At times, it feels like the world will find itself on the Peacock throne.

...that thing happened this day. It took three days to stop them. There was suffering. There was shock at how little this mattered to people who’d told us we matter. There was some reaching out. There was also some turning away. There were rude jokes made about our temerity to continue, not just living, but life. There’s no revenge better than living well. So, take that, suckers – WE ARE HAPPY.

Some time when the year began, The cracks had started to show, Frowns came in when the sun filtered in And all our smiles hung low; Sometime, as the year went by, It got cold, dark, unyielding, Words were sharp and hurled about To be braced and taken, unshielded Sometime, as the year wore on, We had a pile of qualms We’d lost so much in all these days Our fireflies and our storms And though the door’s open now Through which either of us could go We wait back and talk idly of The cracks that had started to show

It has been a very busy week. It promises to be followed by more harrowing stretches of time. I don’t have time for a lot of things but here’s what I miss the most: cleaning up my kitchen cupboard. Now, this is odd because I don't mind the other cupboards being in disarray. But kitchen cupboards are special to me. They are important. A ready stock of nice smelling cinnamon sticks bundled neatly, set next to a jar of cloves is comforting. It keeps a certain sense of well-being around. I like my kitchen cupboards to convey a loving preparedness. To make up for a slow, steady erosion of peace that happens on busy days. Like maybe I didn’t get time to eat a leisurely breakfast or write a song about a blackbird. But should I decide to wake up in the middle of the night to listen to traffic, I could open my kitchen cupboard and make something to drink. A cup of something warm and soothing. Usually, it’s highly cooked tea. But sometimes, on beautiful nights when skies and earth are at pe

Sitting at work, typing away…looking on the screen, looking away; something tugs at you, on an ordinary noon; something pushes you to get out, and not a moment too soon; it’s gotten grey now, and all misty and fresh; tingly rain now, and windy to impress; it’s a November day, it’s a November game; to catch you off-guard, with god-bless-you type rain; it’s the quickening of heartbeat, like when boy meets girl; or when you step into a beautiful day... and a wonderful world. *- when it rained in Mumbai and it was cool...in November!

I am bright and early for my yoga class. The earlier instructor is taking another batch, so she won’t be teaching us any more. This month, we’d have a new instructor. I missed the first class of November (on account of running around Juhu beach at midnight, for which I am not sorry at all). I have no clue who she is. So, I’m sitting in my yoga room, watching the faint, winter morning paint the spit-and-polish granite floor. A man walks in. Fit, speedy, somewhat short. He looks at me and says, “ Good morning.” He’s the instructor. There are no mats in the room. Usually, the instructors are supposed to have the mats in the room, open the windows, draw the curtains, etc. etc. Generally, set up the class so to speak. But if any of the students reached early, we do the same. Since I’m there, I ask him if he’d like some help getting the mats from the store room. He blinks and says, “Maaf kijiye . Aap krupya Hindi main baat karengi ?” So I repeated it in Hindi. He looked a little perplexed.

Stones that got stepped on by wandering stars Wind that was shoved aside by speeding cars Nights that came abruptly, said hello, and left too soon Joy that got confused somewhere and morphed into A-grade gloom Chess players, thinking hard, thinking of a move to make Flowers listlessly standing still, looking for hostages to take, Children growing up in slow motion, bubbling over like cappuccino froth, Alternating between excitement and molass-laden sloth Colors almost there, and almost bare, but all in all they fit One sees the mess a rainbow makes when a world is wiped with it.

The weekend was yellow...bleached with white-hot streaks of the November sun. We took a walk in the afternoon, up Zig-zag road sidestepping splinters of light in the dappled shade. At the bend of Carter Road, one could spot the ocean. It looked homey. It looked like it was on vacation. It looked like it was taking a break from being expansive and had just folded itself up into comfort. It looked like a pool. We went to Juhu at night. Entered the quiet, nice part of the beach. The part that doesn't have rows and rows of stalls, and waves and waves of people. It doesn't have chana garam hawkers, or people shoving sticks of kulfi under your nose, or giantwheels throbbing in acid-purple and hooker-red lights. It’s a smallish stretch with a nice, little dosa stall on a wide bulwark. Had dosa. Liked it. Walked ahead. While friends got busy with entertaining themselves, I tiptoed farher into the sea. Sea that was ready for concert. There lay, in front of me, a thick layer of dense,