Moving on

Mornings, not like afternoons

Afternoons differing from evenings

Evenings changing into nights

And yet ...

All mornings seem the same

So does the afternoons

As are the evenings

… and the nights

I seem to be stuck in a day

Like Bill Murray in Groundhog’s day

 

Frozen in time

Ever waning enthusiasm

Aware of the ticking counter

Revealing morbid tales

 

The environs don’t seem different

But my eyes disagree

The air has remained the same

But I don’t trust it anymore

My fingers yearn to touch my face

But the nose peer at them suspiciously

I wet my hands and reach out for the soap

But my hands stop midway

The liquid soap has won my confidence

But what if the virus thrives on the bar of soap?

I look at it keenly

But the virus is too small to be seen

I wash away the top layers off the soap

But wonder if this precaution is sufficient

Many have talked to us about sanitizers and liquid soaps

But I have heard nothing about the soap bars

It should have been a five second affair

But now every person born on that day get a happy birthday song

 

Forecasts predict bleak times ahead

Even clean hands might not stop

Affectionate creatures from

Reaching my insides

 

I know how to keep away from the virus

But does the virus know how to keep away from me?

The potatoes look healthy from the outside

But did the virus think so too?

Onions bring tears in my eyes

But the virus has no eyes

I love the smell of the sanitizer on my palms

But my tongue protests as the food reaches it

I know how to be clean

But being clean is no longer enough

I latched on to the word enough

And decided to go back to 1984

 

Never in my life will I be

Overly concerned about the virus

For I don't care about these small creatures

Even when the doctors yell

About its existence among us

Reaching out to us constantly. 

A momentary lapse of memory

The brothers loved to hang around with him and his year old son. They loved to push the stroller around the compound and talk to the father and son on various topics. For many days she had observed this unusual group. One day she walked up to them and started talking. After a few moments, she asked the older brother "which school are you studying in?" The boy looked at her confused. She thought he did not understand the question and repeated it. The boy's expression did not change. He continued to stare at her confused. The father of the toddler teased him with a smile "have you forgotten your school's name?" The boy did not respond. She was shocked "have you forgotten?" The boy did not respond. "Do you remember which class you study in?" The boy responded promptly "I am in third and my brother is in first". She continued to probe " ... and the school?".

Silence.

The father of toddler asked "which mobile do you use?" He responded "I use a laptop, Lenovo". "Ah! You remember that but not your school's name is it?" The boy's face brightened and he mentioned his school's name. The two adults in the company seemed surprised. It was the name of a popular school in the neighbourhood.

Childhood's end

The fifteen year old sat beside me and let out a disappointed sigh. I looked at him with a question in my eyebrows. He complained "I want to write about my life but I don't know where to start". The appropriate response for this complaint rose in my head. "Why don't you start at the beginning?" He gave me an annoyed stare. I smiled and started typing out the following words. As I typed, I read it out to him. By the end of the second sentence, he started writing in a notebook. The exercise did not hold his interest beyond that evening but my journal got richer by a post (or is it a past?).

I don't remember a thing about the day I took birth. Actually, I don't remember a thing about the first year of my life. To tell you the truth, the details of my first five years of life are sketchy. I remember bawling as my uncle threw me into the Kindergarten school. The school was named "Isabella" and from that day, I lost my trust in organizations with the name "Isabella". I remember the house I stayed in - my grandmother's house, when I was four. The house was by the railway line and it had a long window at the front. I remember being taken to a movie in Palakkad and hating the movie. I think it was the Malayalam movie "Nellu". I don't remember anything else. But my parents and grandparents have filled in the gaps with a few stories. The first one I heard was about me getting lost in a tea plantation in Ooty. They keep mentioning that I could have been lost forever but by God's grace I was found. 

The second incident took place at my great grandparents' house in Chittoor. One evening I was running up and down the veranda outside the house and I fell down. The right side of my head crashed on the terracotta tiles that lined the floor. A wound opened up and a blood started pouring out. My parents picked me up and took me to a hospital. Pus started collected around the wound and soon my face bloated up into an ugly lump. I could not see anything and my parents and the doctor sat around me worried. Around midnight I called out to my parents and said "I can see a small light there and it is becoming bigger". My parents and the doctor turned around and looked out of the window and saw a car approaching the hospital. The doctor heaved a sigh of relief and said "Thank God!".

We used to stay in a house on the side of a main road near Olavakkod railway station. There were three or four houses in a row and though there was no one of my age in these houses, being the only child in these houses, I became the star of the place. This meant that I could walk into any house at any time and expect to be entertained. Every morning, as my father left for office, I ran out of the house. I walked into the neighbour's home calling her name (which I believe is "Sharadae"). I had to be dragged back home at lunch. One morning, I locked my mother in the bedroom and walked away. My mother called out my name desperately but I continued to walk away laughing. My mother was scared out of her wits. She called out for help for a few minutes. The maid in the next house heard her call and came running. She opened the door and my mother ran out to the neighbour's house where she found me munching a murukku happily. My mother dragged me back home and ensured that my backside turned pink.

I spent a miserable year of my life at a school in Palakkad. I was in first standard and I have never worked on my homework like I have done in that year. As a result of that one year, I hate homework even now. For most children, no learning happens through homework. It only exists to make the grownups believe that the children are working and learning. I used to go to the school in a horse-cart (kuthiravandi driven by a kuthiravandikaran). I don't have any memory of the journey to and from the school or my friends and teachers at the school. Fortunately, it has all been overwritten by other trivial matters. But I will never forget this one incident from that year. 

I was walking out of the school gate one afternoon when I saw the kuthiravandi leaving. I tried to stop it but no one noticed me. So, I stood by the road wondering what to do. The hot afternoon sun was frying the insides and outsides of my head. Probably as a result, I started thinking about the route from my school to home. A few minutes later, I realized I knew how to get home from the school. So, I started walking. I spent the next hour or so walking the four kilometres that separated the school from the telephone exchange (the fourth and fifth floors of the exchange were reserved for staff quarters). 

When I reached home, I did not think it important to tell my mother that I had missed the horse-cart and had walked home and went about my post-school time life peacefully. About an hour later, the kuthiravandikaran arrived at our doorstep and announced frantically to my mother that her son was missing. My mother refuted the claim by saying "no he isn't; he is lazing inside". The kuthiravandikaran recounted what happened. My mother came in and asked how I had reached home. I responded casually "I walked home". I don't have to explain the actions of the next few minutes. At that point, I did not understand why my mother was making a big deal of this trivial incident. Years later, as I travelled along the route, I shuddered thinking how I would have felt if I realized that my five year old son had walked alone on these busy roads. There are two questions that remain unanswered in my head though.

1. How was I so sure about the route?
2. What the hell is wrong with that kuthiravandikaran?   

Surely Palpable Brilliance

A news popped on my mobile at 1:30 pm. It informed that the virus had decided to take away a great singer from us. I started watching one of the news channels on the television. Many film personalities expressed their sadness to the channel through phone calls. One of them could not control his sadness and burst into tears. An interviewer on a YouTube channels was interviewing someone I could not identify. Though I had seen the interviewer earlier, she was barely identifiable for she had drowned her face in sadness. The interviewee turned out to be the winner of one of the super singer programmes. He talked through his tears. The interviewer requested him to sing a song. He protested "how can I sing in this state?" He talked for some more time before breaking into an unfamiliar song that the great singer had sung. Two lines into the song he broke down. The interviewer had tears running down her cheeks too. I got off the channel and decided to listen to some of his songs. I decided to avoid YouTube, which had the annoying tendency to insert advertisements between and sometimes in between the songs. I checked Amazon music, which listed a list of Telugu movie songs sung by the singer. I was not in a mood to listen to songs from movies with names like "State Rowdy". I checked the Amazon Music's list of best songs by the singer. The first song in the list was from the Superstar's latest movie and the second was the Hindi version of "Pudhu Vellai Mazhai". I did not think either of the songs fit into singer's "best songs" category. But I was running out of patience and chose the second song. The song played in the background as I went on with my life.

Later that evening, I watched an interview of the singer. It was claimed to be one of his last interviews. He did not look old in the interview. He seemed a few years older than me but his voice sounded much younger than mine. I realized that I had never seen his interviews before. Fifteen minutes into the programme my phone rang and I ended up speaking to the person on the other side for 35 minutes. I did not go back to the interview. The singer recounted the incidents of his life in an amusing manner. He seemed adept at mimicking voices of different people. From time to time, he sang some of his songs. His voice sounded marvellous. The songs filled me with sadness. He could have continued to sing for another ten years. The virus had cut short the lives of many by about ten years. A generation was fading earlier than they should have. I felt older by a generation.

Later that evening, I told my teenaged son "I will tell you something but you should promise not to mention it to anyone". He looked at me suspiciously. I continued "during my college years, I was approached by a music director. He informed me that the great singer had undergone an operation and was unable to sing. He had heard that my singing sounded similar to his and requested me to record a few songs. I was shocked for I never sang - not even in the bathroom. I told the music director so but he ignored my words and pushed me into his car. He took me to a studio. I recorded nine songs in the coming weeks but these were not released under my name. One of them was a big hit too. The music director asked me promise to not sing well from that day. My son, now you know why I sing so badly".  I saw boredom on my son's eyes as he looked at me. I asked him to promise that he will never tell this story to anyone. He responded "Don't worry. I will never utter this nonsense to anyone." I shook my head in sadness and walked out of his room.

Sometime that night, I woke up suddenly. My mouth and throat felt dry. Though the night had started cool it had lost it coolness and I was sweating profusely. As I reached out for the water bottle, I heard someone clear his throat from the foot of my bed. It did not sound like my son. I felt a chill run through my spine. I got up and looked into the angry face of the great singer. I tried to scream but could not. The face came floating towards mine. His face was so close to mine that I should have felt his nose touch mine but I did not feel it. I did not think it as odd as I felt it was odder that the face did not have a body underneath. I thought I was in a dream but I was not sure. The singer sang "So, you sang ten of my songs is it?" I mustered enough courage to correct him "Not ten; only 9." He continued singing "Oh! Only 9 and it includes that famous song of mine too, is it?" I did not respond for an odd thought had risen in my head and I could not control myself from asking it. So I asked "how are you able to sing when you are only a face with no throat and lungs?" For a few moments I waited for fire to emit from his eye but it only glowered. He continued singing "Tell me the truth! When did you sing these songs?" I responded "Oh, that was many years ago. I was in college then". He did not sing for a few minutes but continued to glower at me. I looked at the water bottle standing beside me and asked "Do you mind if I have a sip from the bottle?" He sang "drink and then sing for me that song". I reached out for the bottle and brought it to my lips through the singer's face. I took a few swigs of the water. I placed the bottle back on the side table and started singing.

Five words into the song, the singer shouted "Stop!" I could not help but utter "You did not sing that word". The anger in the singer's voice gave way to amazement as he sang "which college did you go to?" I responded "Guru Ghasidas Vishwavidyalaya". The singer sounded confused when he asked (not sang) "What! Where is this Guru college?" I responded "Bilaspur". He went back to singing when he asked "... and you say that you sang these songs at Bilaspur". I confirmed "yes, at Bilaspur. In a studio on the first floor of an old brick building in New Bilaspur Market". The singer smiled and sang "Your imagination is better than your singing. You should write and not sing." I felt three pats (not slaps) on my cheek before the face disappeared.

... and so, I wrote this.

No Lizard No Die

"Something's wrong with that lizard. It's not moved for a long time now. I went close to it and slapped my foot on the floor but it did not move. I think it's dead." 

I looked at the immobile lizard for a few seconds. I went closer. Nothing! I wondered what my next move should be. The voice that had informed me about the lizard continued "I hope it does not turn out to be like that bird." The voice was referring to a pigeon. A few days back, we found a pigeon sitting at the edge of the balcony looking at the world. It looked weak. For a moment, I thought it was planning to kill itself by jumping off the balcony. Then I remembered that pigeons possess the ability to fly and so jumping off a tall building would not help the pigeon attain death. But the pigeon did not look well at all. I looked at it for some time before getting back to my life.

Next morning as I walked into the dining hall, I heard the words "The bird's dead". I looked through the small window that opened into the balcony from the dining hall. The pigeon was lying on its back with its legs pointing heavenwards. From where I stood, it seemed that the pigeon's head was crushed under a piece of wood. I opened the balcony door and walked out. I was relieved to see that the pigeon's head was intact. Apparently, it had died of a natural cause. My relief was short lived though. I started worrying about my course of action. I prefer to leave dead creatures alone. Unfortunately, they have this nasty habit of decomposing, which leads to foul odour spreading across great distances. So, I had no choice but to dispose the dead pigeon. I used a plastic cover to pick it up. I took it downstairs and requested the housekeeping staff to give it a decent burial.

The lizard continued to remain still. I took a step closer and slapped my right foot against the floor. The lizard did not react. I was worried now. I did not have the resolve to deal with another death. I rolled a newspaper and tried touching the lizard with it. The lizard moved away. Relief spread across me. The lizard was alive but something was wrong. The lizard should have run towards the ceiling as soon as it saw the roll of paper coming towards it. In this case, it moved away a little and continued to remain still. I observed the lizard for some more time. The tip of its tail had turned black. I wondered if that meant something but did not know much about lizards to know for sure.

My earliest memory of lizards is a lizard standing still close to the tube-light looking at I-have-no-idea-what. Actually, I am not sure if the lizard was standing still or sitting still. As I rummage through my memory, I realize that I have only seen lizards running or not running. I am not sure if in the "not running" state the lizard's standing, sitting or lying down. I have been fortunate enough to notice lizards flash out their pink tongue and arrest an unaware insect passing by. Though I am sure that the lizards do this regularly, I have only seen this happen after the rains. Usually, a day after the rains, the house gets flooded by those annoying insects, which look like ants with wings. The insects swarm around the tube-light like the Mughals attacking a Rajput fort. The smiling lizard stands at one of the tube-light looking at the insect with a glint in its eyes. After surveying the field for a few minutes, they start sprinting towards the other end of the tube-light. At some point during the run, the lizard captures an insect and stuffs the insect into its mouth. Apparently, lizard mothers are not disciplinarians like their human counterparts. They let their young ones stuff their small but wide mouth with large portions of food and don't mind if the young one does not chew the food. The lizards I observed did not chew their food at all; they move the food around their mouth for a bit and then gobble it. The food is not even dead when it starts it journey downwards. But the lizard can't afford to sympathize with its food and gives a contented smile as the screaming insect reaches its stomach. 

For a long time, I did not like lizards. I found the colour of it's skin revolting. More than the colour, there is something disturbing about the texture of its skin. I have never touched a lizard but just thinking about it makes me shudder. To make matters worse I kept hearing news about children falling sick due to the presence of a lizard, obviously dead, in their food. For some reason, the lizard that died in the food got the blame for this calamity and not the people who let the lizard into the food. My impression of the lizards changed on the day I sat reading a book by P G Wodehouse in my house. Suddenly, I heard a lizard's say something from above my head. I turned around and looked up. A lizard sat on the wall. It was looking intently at my book with a big smile on its face. When I looked at it, its smile became longer and it gave me a nod. I nodded back and continued reading. The lizard kept pace with my reading and our laughs coincided with each other's. These days I look at lizards with affection and at times, have tried to offer them books to read. Sadly, I have never found another literate lizard.

An hour later, as I was sitting on the floor working on the laptop, I found the lizard besides me. It had moved half a metre in the past hour. It continued to stay absolutely still. I decided not to disturb it and let it ruminate about whatever it was ruminating. A few minutes later I looked at the lizard and thought it had moved its head a little to its right. It continued to stay besides me in that position for the next couple of hours. Two hours later I bid the lizard good night and went to sleep. 

The next day, I did not remember about the the still lizard till someone mentioned "What's wrong with that lizard?" The lizard had moved five or six metres and had parked itself in the TV room. It continued to remain immobile. Something was definitely wrong with the lizard but we did not know what. 

We have not seen that lizard since.

That was how this piece was supposed to end but I saw the lizard again last night. It is alive still. It has lost some of it stillness and is moving around but at a pace slower than the average lizard pace.

I wonder what is wrong with that lizard.

Invincible

Minimal Animal Song

Animals are all nice

But I am forced to ruin their peace

When I make them pay the price

Through opinions full of vice

For everyone knows for sure 

That there exists none that's more

Harmful as a human

He walked through aisles of power

Stood right in the front like a tower

But tended to run for the cover

When the situation turned sour

Fortunately for him,

Not many knew that he is a

Donkey in disguise

Many thought that she was a princess

For sweetness oozed out of her in excess

But to no one did she give access

To their desire to have her in their posses

For many she seemed grounded 

While in reality she liked to 

Fly like a butterfly

Everyone thought him to be pleasant

For he ensured his lips curved up like a crescent

At times, he could get incessant

As he desired for something luminescent

His inability to hide himself

In the face of desire made him

Greedy like a grasshopper 

No one quite perceived him

As he satisfied everyone's whim

But when he saw opportunity for fame

He ensured he got a good part of the frame

His ability to be invisible

Hid the fact that he was an

Underdog from underworld

One time he was crossing the road

When he stepped on a toad

The dying toad vowed

To place on him bad luck of great load

The dying toad did not know

That he was someone

With the luck of a duck

He wrote anything about anyone

If he could, he would even mock the sun

He did so once to have some fun

Only to end up being baked like a bun 

Though bunny by look

No one missed the one who seemed

Like a penguin with a pen

When she found a situation difficult to tolerate

She looked at means to irritate

Anyone she could desecrate

With her burst of absolute tirade

Everyone was worried

By her tendency to be 

Violent like a vulture

He turns up the volume

To let the sound bounce around the room

But the sounds of doom

Ends up disturbing the calm of the commune

His taste for loudness

Made him seem 
Maniacal like a monkey

Strutting around the place

With a look of pride on his face

Wearing shoes without lace

While avoiding being a part of his race

He did not want

Anyone to realize that he is a 

Wolf who preferred to woof

She liked consuming food that's bland

But she was stuck in a land

With people who set every gland 

On fire by making the spice in their food grand

For many years now

She kept away from eating out like 

A cat avoiding a mat

He cherished his long standing dream

Of him hobnobbing with the cream

But he found himself always downstream

Many miles away from treasures that gleam

He did not realize

That he was more like an

Elephant in search of a pant