Just a test to see if this works... really!
Monday, July 5, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
Alone but not lonely... remembering Delhi - 1
Miss Delhi winter mornings. When everything around you is shrouded with smoky mist - that gets into your nose, your mouth, your hair and that permeates every thought with a wistful sigh...
And the morning tea, best served at some roadside dhaba just as dawn breaks - to reach which paradise, you ride pillion on a Thunderbird no less... ah yes, life has its moments... and then you watch the planes land and take off but the deafening roar does not disturb your peace...
And then at CP, when walking upon the faint stripes of winter sunlight that somehow struggle to fall at your feet as you weave through the white columns to reach that quaint old bookshop, and you climb the narrow wooden stairs and reach the upper floor and settle down for a read in the sweet dead smell of old books...and then you revive your spirits with hot and tangy aloo chat at the corner right in front of a high end shoe shop! And of course, if you have come that far, then how can you not try on the lovely beige slippers in the window?
Then there's the bhuttawala in the evening... you scout him just as soon as the sun makes its descent down into the city skyline and the evening pulls on a dark cloak, to keep warm I think... each bite into the burnt and lemony corn leaves you strangely happy... the chill creeps up your legs and from your fingers and nose but nothing touches the warmth inside...
And the morning tea, best served at some roadside dhaba just as dawn breaks - to reach which paradise, you ride pillion on a Thunderbird no less... ah yes, life has its moments... and then you watch the planes land and take off but the deafening roar does not disturb your peace...
And then at CP, when walking upon the faint stripes of winter sunlight that somehow struggle to fall at your feet as you weave through the white columns to reach that quaint old bookshop, and you climb the narrow wooden stairs and reach the upper floor and settle down for a read in the sweet dead smell of old books...and then you revive your spirits with hot and tangy aloo chat at the corner right in front of a high end shoe shop! And of course, if you have come that far, then how can you not try on the lovely beige slippers in the window?
Then there's the bhuttawala in the evening... you scout him just as soon as the sun makes its descent down into the city skyline and the evening pulls on a dark cloak, to keep warm I think... each bite into the burnt and lemony corn leaves you strangely happy... the chill creeps up your legs and from your fingers and nose but nothing touches the warmth inside...
Empty Evening Verse
the flutter of paper and the scratching of a pen...
a glance around to see who else is stuck with you.
a lone monitor flickering in an almost deserted office...
a conference call and raised voices in foreign accents...
the tapping of computer keys...
a sip of the metallic coffee that you know is not good for you.
a restless city going home behind the windows...
a sigh...
minutes spend in thinking of things that were not...
back to the powerpoint and clicking on the formatting tool...
your presentation has to be in order, even if your life isn't.
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