I miss all that now.
Wednesday, December 22, 2021
I miss all that now.
Thursday, May 13, 2021
And suddenly it's October again.
The dank dark damp will soon be gone
with the slush and wet. Shadows
will lengthen in the angled sunlight
we shall warm our backs to
chilly mornings when winter sets in.
Morning pools of cotton wool
white-wreathed across valleys and mountains,
blue skies piled with immense white clouds,
evenings that explode with colour,
brown confetti from the gulmohar tree
past its May days of glory.
The dry and dust bring back childhood memories,
riding homeward from sun baked plains
up cool, winding highland roads
the nuns at boarding school left far behind,
Father wrapping a warm arm around one of us,
home to Mother and the dear little house
the top of the dusty hill.
Season changes worm out memories
buried in time. And the more things change,
the more things remain the same.(October 2, 2020)
am slowly beginning to forget the pleasure
of waking up in the morning,
anticipating what the day might bring.
One locked-in day after the other,
pacing within these four walls,
classes over zoom, attempting to reach
confused students behind computer screens.
these hills too, the second wave is harsher,
statistics surge every day, nudging at five figures,
ambulances scream under cover of the night
ferrying the infected to safe places,
and patients wheeled into the ICU
do not all leave upright anymore.
life here is kinder than in the plains,
there it’s a nightmare come alive,
swollen bodies floating in rivers
washed up on embankments
for stray dogs to feed on,
a desperate sister’s calls
of Balaji, wake up, Balaji echo in the ear,
as the summer sun mingles
with smoke and fire from funeral pyres,
people gasping for breath and finding
no hospital beds, dying on roadsides.
I feel a sense of survivor’s guilt
but these lockdown mornings are so unendingly empty.
(May 12, 2021)
Sunday, December 27, 2020
One day, some day,
when the pandemic is over
and the world is back to normal
I will look back and miss
the quiet of Sundays:
the stillness, the peace,
the leisurely calm,
the silent streets emptied
of traffic and pedestrians
but for the odd two-wheeler or two
running an emergency.
The Sundays that kept us at home
from church, our social meetings,
the bells clanging at 10
in reminder of busier times.
For now, I will bask
in the soothing winter sunshine
and soak in this quietude.
Tuesday, January 08, 2019
Friday, April 14, 2017
It's been another brutal week at work. Last week was the same. Being HOD may sound like a grand designation to throw around but in reality it's nothing more than being glorified clerks. The amount of clerical work we do is staggering. Mounds and mounds of paperwork. And crunching numbers. There's still some of it waiting on my table right now. I have to have it all ready on Monday but it's a long weekend ahead so I'm treating myself to putting it on hold tonight.
Good Friday and Easter week. Over the last three/four days or so, I've been hearing people continuously read Biblical passages over a PA system somewhere down the valley below. Young voices so probably a KTP project. I've been engrossed in my work (yes, been bringing it home, as well as slogging over it at work by day) so I haven't really been listening with any real attention. But it did pass through my mind how reading out loud can be both so banal and a treat. Most of us tend to just go through the words in a flat monotone. A to B to C. Boring, b-o-r-i-n-g. It sounds so much better when someone puts a little effort into it. Variations in speed, pitch and volume. A little drama, a little theatrics, and the page comes to life.
Excusa moi, I think I'll go practise a bit. Nothing like practising what you preach immediately.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
a motley bunch
and bouts of homesickness,
into the bushes (for Dutch courage)
but declare it time to get back to the hostel!
early morning risings to catch the hired bus,
long hours on winding mountain roads,
stopping for meals at little shacks,
rewinding cassette reels with a ball pen,
So much history forged together,
Thursday, December 01, 2016
at a time when life
no longer holds promise or magic,
when ailments are part of daily life,
and you no longer dream dreams
for so many have been realised,
you feel you shouldn't be too greedy
but be satisfied with what you have,
and your discontent with what you are
and what you have accomplished
is quietly washed away with drink.
But the drink eats away at you,
at your insides, and time after time
you cheat death
in painful, close escapes,
and you go on,
knowing you're not too old yet to sit back on life
while all too aware you're no longer
young enough to start afresh
and tackle those dreams you never fulfilled.
That's when it comes,
the swift, sudden call,
and you go, quietly, alone,
you let go for it seems so easy
to slip away from the weariness of it all
and you don't really care anymore
what waits on the other side.