The purple coffin shined bright.
Its hinges greased with brass oil.
The cushions of satin white
descended into the soil.
The craft lay six feet under
with the carvings neatly sketched.
To this earth it surrendered.
Its image forever etched.
The vessel and the good soul
were heavenwards set to soar.
Time to pop a few bottles of champagne
as the whistle blew and the game ended.
The winners rejoiced, the sulkers complained.
The losers were silent and offended.
It seemed more like a tussle than a game.
The attire turned into battle-worn rags.
Old friends rivaled for just a sip of fame.
Players seemed different under their own flags.
This sport is intense but was much more fun
when skill was an art and not a number.
The play was bigger than the trophies won.
How this changed - it is hard to remember.
Colours of fervour with a new flavour.
Rivals in sports turned rivals forever.
The mummy woke up after centuries.
Its eyes wide open which were once white stones.
The oiled linens had shrouded its stories.
Time to unwrap and stir the lazy bones.
It slid open the coffin with a hiss,
looking everywhere anxious and forlorn.
Here lay the priests, soldiers and
the old wiz.
But amidst the royals it felt alone.
It rattled along in this old chamber
looking for the queen it had cared for long.
If she could just wake up and remember
this old soul who was with her all along.
It sat by the queen like it always did.
Then heard the queen moving her coffin’s lid.
End of the street was a blur.
She looked and stood in despair.
Quiet night, the moon’s murmur.
Yet he felt cold from her stare.
But she found him more scary.
He stood at the other end.
Looking bizarre and dreary -
this oddball who would befriend?
Each innocent, yet afraid.
Into the dark night both fade.
People praised me way too much.
I rejoiced and closed my eyes-
thought I had a magic touch.
And believed in all the lies.
This haze took time to clear
for these ears were wrongly tuned.
Now I listen more than I hear.
The false flattery is pruned.
Shadows of the past are long.
But loud, the gongs of the wrong.
The midnight train chugged and purred
with just an occasional horn.
The ceiling fans hummed and whirred.
A handful of lights were on.
People slept without a care.
They had toiled hard, and far roamed.
Soon a scent would fill the air.
The scent of returning home.
Some will hang up their old boots.
And some will find a new route.
The summer heat had gone. I had a blissful sleep. Rain. I woke up and left for work at 7.
Taking a rickshaw to the station is a classic.
Rickshaw fellow : sir, please give exact change.
Me : bhai, no! Exact plus more.
He had to take a detour because a tree had fallen on our regular route.
I watched school children walking very slowly to the school. But that is a universal rule and not because of rains. Because they will return home running despite the rain.
It was pouring. My loyal umbrella was doing all its bits to keep me dry. But along with the rains came the gusty winds. And my umbrella occasionally turned upwards as if it was thirsty and collecting rain. All its spokes straining - along with me. So much for loyalty.
The stairway to the station was puddled Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!
I reached the station at 7:12. The indicator showed the 6:47 train would be arriving soon. Rain.
I folded my umbrella and waited - like everybody else. Some were wearing raincoats. Few had forgotten to bring anything. And some didn’t bring one throughout the monsoon! Somehow or other they never got wet. Strange.
I stood at the corner of the platform and looked for my train. I could see few others doing the same. Heads in the air towards the tracks. The train arrived slowly as if through a mist. Like in a dream. It hooted for us idiots to stand back. Though it was late it wasn’t that crowded. But the way people rushed into the train as if it was the last train. Force of habit. There were plenty of vacant seats available, especially near the windows. Summer was over. No scampering for a window seat. But I stood as I always did for the first few minutes.
Rain picked up. People looked out and then at one another. Half smiles. Enjoying the rains but at the same time wondering if the train will reach the destination. No matter how often you travel you will always want an assurance from someone else that this city will not come to a stand still. We have the best drainage system in the world and all that crap. The truth is we are just plain lucky.
People shut the windows but a few let them remain open. Half-checking if anyone dared to defy. College kids were glued to their phones listening to music or scrolling. Heavy rains were just an everyday affair.
I took a wet seat. Some people were already dozing and some were pretending to be asleep so that they didn’t have to offer their dry seats.
After several stops at other stations, the train arrived at my destination with no fanfare. Very much on time though hadn’t started on time.
I took out my loyal umbrella and started walking towards my office thinking - would I be able to get back home even if not on time?
Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!
I still feel I am unknown
though have lived here for a while.
I possess but do not own.
And less I see people smile.
The old streets look new to me.
And colder are the warm nights.
Tell me a place I can be
where I can sense some sunlight.
Belittle not what you view-
I am no stranger than you.
The first sip of whiskey burned down my throat.
It was a bit bitter as expected.
But soon hit me hard and I was afloat.
I drank to be socially accepted.
In my teens it was just random drinking.
In my middle age I learnt to savour-
unaware that I was slowly sinking,
and not doing anyone a favour.
I thought whiskey and I could coexist.
Telling myself it was a way of life.
But deep I sank unable to resist.
My mind and body at bittersweet strife.
Amid the lies and unwanted advice -
I surface to breathe - know wise from the vice.
He looked afraid on the stage.
Stuttered and fumbled for words.
And people were quick to gauge,
branding him a no-good-nerd.
Was he really a fool,
and his stumbling act just guile?
For though his gaffes looked awful,
he could not resist a smile.
Unaware, we fussed and cursed,
this prankster with a purpose.
In the hour of dawn when the moon still glowed,
I opened the rusted memory tap.
Stories dribbled with a sputtering flow
as if woken by hiccups from a nap.
Some were lukewarm and worth reminiscing.
Few should have remained like a distant haze.
Some tasted like a sweet cake with icing.
Some left a bad taste - could not be erased.
I switched off the tap for a few minutes.
But I could still sense the gurgle of tales.
I savoured all and sundry and tidbits.,
and will not let the flow stop nor run stale.
As I soak and sink into this outpour-
my sink overflows yet I ask for more.
He calls you with a sweet smile.
Then knocks on wood and whistles.
All set to polish in style
with wax, cream and brush bristles.
He could tell some funny tales
that just don’t make boots shine.
He would fix a shoe that ails,
and your petty daily whines.
He knows every shoe unknown.
Just by the way it is worn.
She brings her chair to the beach.
A flask of hot chai - her friend.
As the morning sun glows peach,
the moon fades - its vigil ends.
The sea takes back little sand.
Her chair slides one inch deeper.
Today, she has time on hand.
Nature is the time keeper.
Walkers pass by, wave from miles.
She squints her eyes with a smile.
Here rests an old friend in peace
that often eluded him.
Though he was on a short lease-
Alas! It was further trimmed.
He lived a colourful prime
of guzzling beers and ghazals.
Perhaps aware of less time
with a mind full of puzzles.
He is wheeled on a gurney.
Thus begins his next journey.
