Tag Archives: time

In Another Life

In another life
We’d dance to jazz till sunrise as
Our love ended at the horizon.

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Interest Over Time

You’ve got the last half of the chocolate cake in front of you and, me – instant noodles topped with scrambled eggs. The whole world knows orange juice goes well noodles and eggs but, only you seem to have a liking for its pairing with chocolate cake. It’s three quarters away from midnight and, this was our dinner.

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When Time Fought

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.

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Six Nine

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

Creeks and, Blankets

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.

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Arranged

There’s a steady drip from the tap, dancing on the steel utensils in the sink. The sun is fast asleep, perhaps just fretting about a little before it wakes up. I switch on the lights, squinting to not startle the sleep I already broke. I gently shut the door behind me as I walk in, scanning the kitchen to locate the shelves I need. I glance to my left, at the daisy clock he’s put up. It was a Saturday afternoon, and I remember telling him about the geyser being left a few minutes too long, as I stirred the tea leaves, in the morning while I got busy in the kitchen. All he said was “Hm.” as he passed me the cup of milk. I’m not sure when he got the clock but I stepped in the next morning to find the daisy hanging on the wall. 

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Moment

It’s a quarter to six and you can see the winter nudging your sleeves as the wind picks up. You can see the pavements light up with their enlarged fairy lights and a lazy rush flood in. I glance at my ten year old watch as the signal still speaks red. Ten minutes to six. It’s an odd hour to hear Kishore on the stereo but I’m the last to complain. That’s if you ask me to at gunpoint. The road starts to clear and Kishore and I make our way back to the house by the time the clock strikes six. I’ve walked up to the front door but I can’t seem to look at it with its carved roses and clear glass that bends the light in the most magical way. I can hear the blood gushing through my ears ferociously as though it pumps right there. I place my left palm on the door, letting my skin recognize warmth on its cold surface. There isn’t any noise in this part of the city. You have the silence and the waves to keep you company. And my uneven breaths.

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Reason

It’s a quarter to one and my eyes are yawning lazy in the summer noon. I’ve left my right foot a foot above the ground, swinging carelessly as my left foot stays tucked under the right knee where my right fingers are humming a tune whose lyrics I’ve forgotten. I fidget a little with the hems of my skirt, occasionally with my hair that the humidity has curled in ways no curler can. It’s a quarter past one now, and I browse through my chats on social media, hovering over yours just for a second longer. You’ve thanked me for something I don’t seem to recall. I hover for another four seconds before opening our conversation.

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