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Goodbye, Granny

You left, without a goodbye, quietly, unexpectedly. 

No time to say thank you, for all the love and care, 

No time to share another bowl of maggi, 

No more prasad, pooja and pothi, 

No tiny bits of food stowed away. 

The fridge will be empty, 

Things will go unnoticed, 

There won’t be questions, or calls. 

No one will put a bottle in the fridge, as soon as she hears I’m on my way. 

I hope where you are now, there is no worry, no backache, where you eat as you please, that you’ll meet all those you loved and lost.

Goodbye, Prabha Aaji, I never thought I’d have to say goodbye to you.

Facebook is where you encounter all the people left behind. Photos, updates, tags remind you of those who were friends but have now become a vague virtual presence.

I found out that a dear friend got married this morning. We were close in college but drifted apart. An odd phone-call, maybe a text was all there was left. But early this morning, as I log on to facebook, I see photos- of the wedding, the hen party, photos with people I knew (a long time ago).

A wish of happiness is followed by a vague sense of loss and of longing, for the time we were younger and friendlier. This realisation that we’re not friends anymore, makes me miss you.

Reading Lists…

There is so much to read and so little time. How have I survived without reading so many great works and how am I ever going to catch up enough? 

When will i read enough to write well? 

Life and Later

This morning, out of the blue, I realised the clock was ticking, that I was getting old and in some way, getting nowhere. Where was my research interest to take me, what would I do with a PhD, when I get around to it, what am I walking toward and what is it that I expect out of life?!

Then I realised, I’ve been an adult for ten years, working, studying and thinking. Life has, undoubtedly been very exciting, travel and adventures, people and experiences that I cherish. So, why is there a certain anxiety at this un-forseen future? Why do I worry about how time passes as long as I keep my today enriched?

When does this elusive “rest of my life” begin? 

Promise…

You promised to come

Promised to make my lonely life a little less so…

Promised to nourish,

Promised to cherish…

You promised to make me laugh,

You’ve pushed this promise

For another day, now I have to wait

Watch the rains alone,

Let my coffee cool on its own…

But there is still promise…

… Of your return, of happiness, of conversation

… there is promise of love.

 

Growed Up

This morning, I’m throwing a tantrum. 

I don’t want to be growed-up. 

I want summer hols, big stacks of books, poori-bhaaji 

Hours spent at home, with Chhoutu, doing absolutely nothing. 

Instead, I’m in office, being suitably grave, 

Lest people see me, the real me, a child playing a ‘growed-up game’…

The skies, they are different today…

Grey, pregnant with promise,

Of showers, that will set of that brilliant scent, 

Clean up the world, make everything green… 

There will be waterfalls to spot, 

Potholes to dodge,

Pesky feet will find a puddle to splash…

Pakora cravings will return,

Malhar will play,  

And I’ll sit by the window, a book in hand, 

Steaming mug of coffee, 

Waiting for you to return…

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