Picket Fences

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Old man..and Monsoons in NYC

He grazes lazily around his thoughts, harbouring vintage memories of his youth and intimacy...the yellow ball pitched to the tennis racket falls on his feet...he unperturbed Looks on at the two young lads who race in front of each other to fetch the ball, which is now lying under his feet…
The old man recollects his women and wine...his losses and gains...his woes and worries… he counts his days in all his 80 years…remembers his wife and children and some who have left him while they were young… his life has never been his...it’s borrowed, pledged often compromised like his unbranded shoes, which often fit him right…
Old man that he is...sits still in the wilderness of green grass, white space…waste land and .the slow drizzle which unsettles him..
Monsoons in NYC::
Today it’s “barish” again…the whole house hold… gathers around the portico...women men, kids, youngsters…plates in hand giggling and soaking in those wet raindrops...it has been 5 years since love nestled in this place they have married their own maternal cousins, and have moved under one roof…their lives well kept, opinions unheard, rarely bartered in disputes, women clad in headdresses and foot loose colorful “odnis” jingles of their bangles. Tinkling.. ... of their anklets…twinkling eardrops.. Girlie talks gossips always seen…across the street but not heard…never ever heard…
Only when” Barish” falls gently they gather like the bees gather to build the hive swarming around busy and…humming…serving bhel, pav and bhaji...running in and out. Romancing in the rain…reminds me so many memories. ...of bheegi bheegi ..mumbai..shehar...golguppa and the beach .

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