Touch

As the young boy holds her arm
The lady smiles shyly
I wonder if this is the touch of love
As she lets go her fear
And relies on his grip.
A weeny toddler makes haste
He has lost his mother's face
The bus is crowded and he is lonely
And grips a skirt with the familiar hem.
A little further into the city
Two lovers chase each other into the crowded bus
He busies himself with her auburn hair
As she cocks a snook at my love lorn stare.
The bus rambles through manicured roads
Of soothing calm and eternal beauty
I write my name on the frosted glass
Drawing out extended twirls on a name that has lost its hold
I hope to make love to the sound that once defined me.
Thinking of the varied touch
I wonder which one defines love
The frail arm in a trusting grip,
A clamour for the familiar face
Catching the sun through a mesh of red
Or my name in a cold glass plate?


Free counter and web stats

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Trees of Pune

If I were to ever sum up the essence of Pune, I would probably call it verdant (much at the risk of being ridiculed or accused of fibbing). The once lush canopy that spread over the city is now reduced to mangy tufts of isolated patches of green. Worse still, it is something that exists only in nostalgia backed by a few photos. Nobody in their present encounter with the city would remotely associate verdant with Pune - unfortunately. Back in the day, a green cover meant something that was given. Not an abrogated promise by a builder of a housing society. There were trees and plants which were not specifically chosen for their aesthetic appeal but rather, like the citizenry, they were there because their forefathers had once been there - they were an organic part of the city, when organic was not something which cost an arm and a leg. My earliest memory of trees as individuals is that of a huge Mimosa tree opposite Sambhaji Park on Jangli Maharaj Road. Its smooth, dark bark was a v...
Read more

Bandu

Image
Guess which one is Bandu? You were probably the only one who got a name from Aai. Its not that she did not like pets, but unlike us, she was sensible about disciplining them as well. And she tried to do the same with you. Initially you complied, but then of course things didn't quite stick to the course -- as was expected. Bandu was a name of endearment. It meant a very dear one. A very dear, little one. And that's what you were. Our precious, dear little one with the softest fur and blackest, loving eyes. Of course they were not kohl-lined like Tony's, but neither were you drop dead gorgeous like Tony. You were good looking, that is the intrinsic quality of your breed and it was natural that you would be so. Unlike Tony's, I was not witness to your baby steps as you dashed and jumped your way in the house. In fact I wasn't even around when Baba got you home. I got to see you only on my subsequent visit to Pune. But none of that quite affected your anima...
Read more

Baba

 It is two years since Baba is gone. Seeing this on screen looks surreal, hardly believable, but nothing could be further from truth. He had seemed invincible with his verve and spirit, but Nature proved to have a stronger spirit. He is gone and in his stead is a deep emptiness, a hollow and vacuum of sorts. Like a cutout - a very vacuous cutout.  I still recollect that evening when cookie called like it was yesterday. I had just finished a heart to heart conversation with her and in less than half an hour or so she called again. I was very sure she had to pass on some interesting bit of gossip that she had missed earlier. But she was terse and anxious in her message. "We have lost Baba, Sonalitai", she said in the midst of her sobs and tears. I had bent down to tie my shoe laces even as I answered her call. I could scarcely understand what she meant. "What do you mean?" I asked her stupidly. "Baba has passed away", she had replied trying to find synonyms ...
Read more