He sipped on double espresso while the sky wasn’t yet struck by sunlight. He was dressed in a crisp white button-down paired with a pair of lightly plaid khaki pants tapered at his ankles that stayed on his waist with the help of a walnut brown leather belt. The back of his neck was plastered with droplets of cold water that fell off his washed hair. He smelt of musk flavoured cocoa – odd in theory but intriguing in practical. The one-day-old stubble brought more shadows to his jawline, bringing out its sharpness. He liked to sit outside, next to the benches, on the smoothened rocks. You could see rays bounce off the marigold here and, the wind danced to ballads in ballet.
It was the peak of spring
And the garden was filled
With lush reds, pinks and yellows.
It was five-forty and I knew,
You’d be by the french window
To watch dawn set,
Waiting for your tea
And me. Continue reading Dawn
The streets are empty
With nothing but yellow shadows
And empty cars.
There’s the second last bus home
Making its way to me, adding white
To the yellow shadows.
Some folks of have strange tales
Pumping through their veins,
That’ll remind you of fairytales.
Those marks are not stains,
But are remains
From a battle fought
At the ghats and plains.
Hear, hear, there’s something it taught.
We’re out near the gardens
With marigolds and pigeons
Laughing about anything
Continue reading The Sound of Laughter
It’s a quarter from seven
And I don’t feel her
She’s left the chiffon
Over the windows
Just to let the sun
It’s been six months since I spoke to you.
But I know you went to the concert of your favourite band last month when they came to the nearby city. I know that you wore grey and charcoal with white floral embroidery to your cousin’s reception the month before that. I know you celebrated your friend’s birthday last week and took three shots of vodka cheers. I also know that you had scrambled eggs over waffles and, fresh orange juice for breakfast today at the cafe two blocks away, in your black tracks and white tee. Continue reading Six Nine
I’ve got two blue shirts folded in front of me on the bed covered with black as I fold the third. I’ve let the chiffon curtain fall over the window letting the orange dance into the room. I stop midway as I stare down at the pattern and memories printed on it. I can feel the five o’clock warmth wrap itself around me but only through the sweater of fifteen months ago. I gently trace the polkas and kalkas, afraid to erase the memories yet trying to reach them one more time.
It’s a quarter away to eighteen and the sun’s making its way to the horizon. I make my way out of the house and onto the streets, towards the seas or maybe somewhere else. I walk towards the main road and then take three steps back to go ahead to the alleys behind, take another two steps and trace them back to take the main road. There’s uncertainty in my feet today that take steps of restlessness. The sky’s gone from orange to pink. I’ve reached the park and for a minute I slow down, giving my racing heart a chance to slow down too. It smells of wet grass and ice-cream. I sit down in the centre of the empty bench, assuring myself single occupancy. I cross my legs over and, take two deep breaths and place my right palm over my chest. Still racing. You can see the creek from here and the lights dancing on it in graceful choreography. Perhaps today, we don’t meet the sea. Perhaps today, we meet the creek.
It’s a quarter away from seven and the skies are whispering rain. We’re on a patch of green that almost caresses my bare feet as we walk along aimlessly to a spot empty enough to huddle five. You can feel the wind brush your hair away with the taste of thunder on its tongue.