Calendar

Rolled into a cylinder

In the last week of December,

Baba brought it home-

Colorful landscapes from Istanbul and Rome,

Resplendent beauties from Bollywood,

Or urbane beasts from Honda or Ford.

I snatched it from his startled hands

Flipped the pages over,

To be awed by the photographs

That graced the oily texture.

Ready to be up on the wall

To serve a year’s tenure,

To be marked all over in ink;

One last thing I did-

Was to quickly scan through

The bottom of the page

For the list of holidays!

Phones and computers now have it,

But, the art is long lost,

The red letters and Sundays now cost;

The excitement over the new calendar

And the hope it brought with it,

Is slowly getting bleaker.

Tales from the winter morning

Ten minutes to eight and I embark on the vessel- a ‘rickshaw’

Curled into a bundle with shivering jaw,

Cursing the world for making me suffer

On a cold winter morning- no chauffeur.

‘Layers of clothing keep you warm’-

Physics lessons from school are a real charm.

But the people on my way on the road

Makes me forget my grief and helps me goad.

The pranks the poor play on each other

Around the bonfire; almost a celebration;

Keeping oneself warm is fun, it seems-

How esoteric life is!

There is this roadside vegetable stall,

The seller who sleeps there wakes up in a shawl,

The glacial wind and the sound-

Still a sense of gratitude to God, profound.

The school-children that line up for the bus

Or others who tightly hold their mothers

From back, drawing warmth from them, in scooters

Not complaining about the morning class.

The not-so-poor have their health to take care,

Morning walks- facing the wind that’s raw and bare

Ha! For me, indeed, a dare!

All have their winter morning’s share.

All these people that wake up to see

The morning and the sun- what glee!

For your love for His creation,

I can feel- the Almighty bows down to thee!

Choice

The choice of traveling in a car air-conditioned

Through downtown ‘alleys’

Versus a walk through the gravelly terrains

Through the face of nature-

Isn’t easy.

To leave the coziness behind

And tread the path full of hassles-

Isn’t easy.

Yet, if you never come out of the car

And look outside,

You’d never know what lay hidden

From your sight-

How the hood blocked the view

Of the blue and the cotton above;

How the floor saved your shoes

From being drenched by the brook;

How the glasses gave the touch of the green

On your neck a miss;

How your attention was captivated in traffic

While bounty lay bare all ’round.

The apparent hassle is a thrilling ride, I say-

Not easy but all fun.

The world beckons you

To come out of the comfort ersatz -

And see if I am right?