rain boats

Today I think
of green,
rain-drenched fields,
flowing into
deep-blue horizons.
viewed from
sleepy dark compartments
of early morning trains
the neck anxious,
preening,
moist eyes,
wind in the hair.

the familiar showers
that drip all day
from tiled roofs
wet feet
on cracked floors.
and there is this place
where two rows
of tiled roofs meet
where the water
not just drips
but flows and flows
in one steady stream
long after the rains have stopped.

it is here
that the children
tear pages from
the past year's
notebooks
and set
their paper boats
on sail
attempting
to venture out
along with their boats,
stepping on
slippery snakes
that creep in,
as the silver-haired glance
of their grandmother
drifts.

today,
as the rain falls,
the grandmother's photo
sits atop the rusty,
faded blue fridge.
the little boy
whose paper boats
were the rain
and ran wild and wild
around the old house,
climbed walls and trees,
is many miles away
stumps remain
of the trees
he loved
to climb
and the house silent,
so silent,
it is the silence
that gathers dust
on furniture,
the book shelves
the memories.

and somewhere,
along the rain-years
rivalry
grew into love,
enmity into
a certain endless fondness,
jealousy into
pride,
admiration, love.

the rain falls and falls,
not growing old
over the years,
the memories.
but has it grown
quieter,
sadder, and lonely,
how will i know?
for the rain
will never
be the same again
without
the paper boats
set to sail
by the little boy
i have grown
to love so much.

(my kid brother turned 21 today, and i am still trying to come to grips with the fact that there is no turning back of the clock now. somewhere, i miss that lovely, naughty boy i grew up with, whom i hate-love-tolerated then. but today i also know, we'll never really be old enough to always grow up with each other)

the day after slumber

it's almost been two years since i wrote that last post, and everytime i looked at this space, and read all that i had written, i thought i never would or could write again......and when some friends asked me why i never wrote again, i said i didnt know, there was nothing to write about, life was just one day piled on another, nothing interesting....not that life got any better now, but here i am, keying in, and well, the words seem to be coming, though reluctantly....for they have been quiet for a long time now.... maybe i will write oftner now.... i read about how blogging is losing its charm for an FB-toxicated world...but what do i care for this world anyway..... so i got my blog this new look, and am sitting here, keying in dear words with love...... i like the new template, and when i log in now, it's like coming into a newly shifted house, a new city.... it's new and nice, like how new cities are at first, also in the end, when you have to say your goodbyes.... i began writing this blog in delhi, i hated living there, but now i do miss the walks around delhi's melancholy streets..... chennai is nice, i dont hate living here, but there are days when i wish there was more space to walk around, there was a purana qila or a lodhi garden that transports you to another era...a quiet escapede..... also i long for delhi's bustling markets, shopping, my walks around CP and janpath...... my solitary evenings on the hostel terrace, sipping green tea, listening to music from the nearby gurudwara, watching the sunset, and sometimes pleasant conversations with a fellow hosteller.... guess we never leave any city completely, when you finally pack your bags, load your cartons with memories and books and coffee mugs, and with all the fretting, the bills to settle, the documents to fill in, however hard you try you forget something, you leave some things behind, a novel, a favourite top, a faded jeans, a piece of your heart...... and when you unpack in a new city, you unearth stuff you imagined you had lost, like love for the city that took you in anyway.....and then you go on living, and on evenings such as these, the memories just come back, and then there is nothing left to do than write......