essential meghdoot

I rush upstairs to save the clothes,
just put out in the sun,

but when I see them swaying in the rain,
after so many May-like afternoons,

I let them soak in the clouds,
for they too live in parched Madras.

In a mood for Meghdoot,
in english but of course,

I wonder how one can speak of it,
and the deep, dark cloud,
in minutes and not in laborious dance-epics,

for the passion would then dry up,
as quickly as pappadam in the April sun,

but a simple ad does just that.

so now you tell me, in just one line,
what you see in the dark cloud right up there.

~the window siller

~meanwhile, in other worlds, mukul kesavan tries to upset my perfect world. but I remain firmly colonial.

Monsoon memory

It was vacation time, when six school friends ganged up one evening. Hopping homes on new bikes, sharing college notes on a terrace... when it rained. poured.

With no one to check us, we played with vengeance in the rain. for all the times we were bundled up for a drizzle, for all the times we were shouted at for having got wet in the rain, for all the times we did not dare to jump into a puddle.

dancing, laughing, with music from somewhere... teasing, and then one friend broke down.

I had unwittingly reminded her of her boyfriend. they had just broken up, I did not know. but the rain cheered her up soon and we played again, though a little subdued.

as we rode back home that night, speeding on the airforce lane, much later than we were allowed, cold and carefree, wet and without a care about odd glances... it struck me at a crossing:

we were grown-up, past caring, independent and yet it was not all that I had imagined.

Adulthood brought with it, its own share of worries and pains.