jumbled up

A lazy Saturday afternoon is hard to find. It is hard to treasure it for long when i find one.

A visit to the mall - always hurried - scurried - in a mess, the brightly lit shelves, rows and rows of colorful packaging whirl past as the shopping cart whooze to the corner of your find.

The stories of those who walk by on the streets - the beggar, the street vendor, the fruit seller, those group of loud Indian visitors, lost dazed rich people trying to find coca cola - staring at them from your window and fancying up your own story for each one of them - what leisure were those now you realize.

I tasted my tea today - darjeeling leaves - with its rich fragrance. It had long been i tasted food. I gulp them down every now and then several times a day. I measure my water for enough intake - one red steel bottle on my left hand, pouring it down my throat - my eyes on the screen, my right palm on the mouse. Am i supposed to taste water? I wonder.

I lived for 15 minutes last week. I was in a cab to work. I closed the stack of A4 size print outs on my lap, the presentation material for the day - closed my eyes, brought my senses alive and watched, I listened, I smelled. I saw the droplets on the window of the cab - blurring my visuals of outside. I felt droplets on my bare arm that had managed their way in. I smelled the rain. I smelled the moisture inside the cab. The thudding of rain drops on the roof. The splatter on the roofs nearby. The incessant chaotic car honks, motorbikes that splashed waves around - the raincoats, the umbrellas, the squeezing under umbrellas, the smiles, the shouts, wet hair, muddy folded pants, the potholes, the rain boots, the whites turned brown on school children.

I suddenly missed school, i missed college, i missed mom, i missed a cup of tea.

But the days roll on. I still measure my water intake. Try hard to make in time for work. Balance it out well. Cook, wash, read, correct, edit, send, write,click, edit, call, shout, click, decide, edit, read, send, think, click, call, frustrate, write, gulp down, edit, click, send, stand, speak, opine, call, click, walk - rush, call, reply, call, listen, click, note down, translate, gulp down, edit, opine, speak, call, cook, wash.....

and the days roll on.

my world

The long lost freedom is not yet found.

It is in some old forlorn forgotten well, deep under the waters, whose walls have grown moss - lust, wet, green, innocent moss - carpeting the inner walls.

It might never be restored, retrieved - the freedom.

When i think of freedom, i think of a hilly, a mountainous place - a hill station perhaps - with its crisp fresh air, its friendly, innocent, simple people with no complications of emotions, with no ego - no expectations, no demands. A gay happy face when the daily demands of basic needs are fulfilled.

I think of a school on this hill, a school and its kids. I would love to spend time with them - teach them something perhaps - spend a lot of time with them - play table tennis with them maybe - run with them - chat with them - spend a lot of time with them - show them various books - solve their innocent emotional issues - talk with them - spend a lot of time with them.

When i think of freedom, i think of making friends in the lonely place - knowing people doing their own stuff - making tea, tending to their gardens, dusting their windows, scrubbing off a stubborn stain.

When i think of freedom, i think of a snack on this hill somewhere - a sandwich probably - and a book - under a warm lovely sun, lying on the grass - reading the book until my lids get heavy and i fall in a lazy cozy warm slumber. I wake up to the crisp fresh breeze - the flowers around - red, blue and yellow, dangling and dancing with the breeze.

When I think of freedom, i think of keeping the body and the mind fresh, healthy and alert.

When i think of freedom, i think of writing, on a table, or on the grass, or at a tea shop, or in the school - i think of writing.

When i think of freedom, i cannot think of you. When i think of freedom, you are a wishful character - the yearning in my life. You are what makes me complete. You fulfill me and complete the purpose of why i live. With you i feel free.

But you don't come alone. And i can't take you with all your belongings to my space of freedom because they clatter a lot, clutter a lot, make noise - a lot of noise. They are orthodox, conservative, complicated and stagnant. And for them, i have no space in my world.

But i have stopped taking you there anymore.

I keep you here, with me - where you are - lest they hear us and follow us to my world.

But i still wish, i still yearn for you to be there with me - under the sun, lying on the grass........

I miss you deeply, where I wish you to be.