Trishna

In the sun’s rays,

alarms, my bed sheet,

wishes, texts/calls, the cold,

missing things, the radio, car drives, routes,

couples, the dew, parks, laughter, silences,

yoga, my breathing, prayers, song lyrics, memories,

coffee, mirrors, my earrings, the black bindis, fights,

doors and windows, intellectual musings, rains, the bustle, work,

my energy, chai, red pillars & black coats, my hopes & dreams, meets,

my joys, the stars, shadows, heart-ache, sleepless nights...     

I see you. Now that you’re gone.

'Miracle'

A grihapravesha. A group of chattering aunties. It must have been one of their routine casual (read: politically incorrect, misogynistic, pretentiously caring / funny) conversations. An acquaintance repeatedly chanted the mantra: “Don’t rush… Marriages are made in heaven.” 

Of course they are - by diligently matching religion, class, caste, language... and more diligently mismatching levels of loves, thought-planes, commitment-phobias, political affiliations. 

Then, down here, the society cheers the matches that match, but rigorously takes to task the mismatches that mismatch. To the extent that it squeezes, hard, the love out of the lovers. Love’s voluptuous flow reduces to a stream, then to a trickle, then to a nerve-ending of a crevice in barren land. Then, they’ll force a flower to bloom there, with the nourishment of dead love… 

And ‘Miracle’, they’ll call it.

Chutney Man

He sits sullenly by the corner of Veena Stores, all by himself, perhaps smirking at the gluttons constantly swarming around him. "Swalpa chutney haaki!" some ask. Others just extend their arms towards his face with their hot idly-vade plates. Put, chutney... put, chutney... put, chutney. He can surely smell the vades - does that make him hungry? The first few days of his job, ancient times ago, they'd smelled delicious! How those chatty college boys always bit into them greedily, how those thathas gangs discussed their melting in their toothless inners. To him, the vades have always smelled that way. In fact, he can tell the exact dimensions and crispness of a vade if its smell wafts towards him even in the middle of the night. "Eshtu soft ide idly! Which batter do they use?" May be the women have always tried to snoop to know the Store's batter recipe, while cursing their husbands who always, God-knows-why, praise someone else's cooking and never theirs. He stares through the gluttons into oblivion. (When will my son send me the money order? Are my grandchildren proud of me? Will my chutney-putting diligence take me to heaven or to hell? Where does my wife wait; does she wait? Am I a robot?) Put, chutney... put, chutney... put, chutney. 

The sky is getting darker, there is a soft breeze. But nothing obstructs his gaze. His hand works mechanically. Put, chutney... put, chutney... put, chutney. Does he think while putting, chutney...? Sometimes the chutney lands right into the plate's base and splashes a little to the sides, sometimes it violently drenches the idlys but it always has to put up a fight to soak the vades. His hand moves systematically in and out of the big vessel holding the famous tasty green chutney, palm-up and palm-down. Does he feel pain in his wrist? Does he care if the chutney tastes okay, if it's a bit too dilute today? Do the gluttons like it better today? He stares past the chaos. His tranquility puts the chaos to shame with each passing day. (Will there be a nuclear war? When will the Palestinian children stop dying? Who will solve Bangalore's garbage issue? Why are some people anti-national and some not?) Put, chutney... put, chutney... put, chutney.

Everydayness

We seem to be finding comfort in the mundane, in the mediocre. We seem to be  blissfully disillusioned by all the luxury we're amidst...

"New year sales are here. I'll finally buy that dress!"

"He's online, why isn't he saying hi?"

"Treat me at least now, for your new job, car, house...!"

"I'll beat the traffic today and work from home!"

"Damn, the hangover!"

May be there'll come a day when we'll begin to find the mundane fascinating... May be our eyes will gleam at the everydayness of the violence, pettiness, negativity, backbiting, deaths.

When, then, will we start fighting the bigger fights?

[Context: 

http://www.asianage.com/opinion/columnists/040118/the-year-of-the-missing-wheres-our-humanity.html]