ride

always, there was

this elder-brotherly

hand, light,

on the back of the

seat, assuring me 

that gravity

wouldn't

get me yet

 That phantom
 clasp

 still assures me 
on subsequent

rides,  

that there is no reason

to be afraid of 

 new things, 

each experience,

another, first,

bicycle ride...


(click image for large size view)

game

kicking shadows

enervated footwear 

rubble dust

post school

grey afternoon,
of surprise tests,
demonic teachers

Toys

multicoloured bubbles,
inflated to a child's
imagination...

daydreamer

brick after brick

on his sand castle

vanishes, appears   

watchman, watchdog

 

For wading through the umpteen hours of boredom and inertness, the dog is a constant companion for the watchman through his lonely shifts, even as students pass by, filling in him, years of invisibility...  



Home Alone Chronicles: Starring - 'The Broom'

  
No work, no chore, is big or small, especially when you have no option but to perform it. Every day, from the skeletons of upcoming buildings all around, dust comes visiting, laying itself down in layers on the snow-white tiled floor of my home. After a fortnight, common cold had set in, along with suspected asthma. It all sounds poetic when somebody else does the cleaning up, but last Saturday, with a broom in my hand, it sounded, looked and felt like prison work.

Introducing - THE BROOM. Anything in man's creation, made for the sole purpose of cleaning up, has seldom been bright and attractive in appearance.The broom is no exception. Fellow home alone blokes, thee who have not held this revolting device yet, let me tell you, it's no joy to do so. Consider the broom first, shaped as it is without inspiration. Its unimaginative top plastic cover makes one think of destroying it, the dull texture of the bristles that make the other end, is enough to inspire extreme hate.

Now, the broom is best held at the top, with one hand, fingers wrapped loose round the handle, such that it can be manipulated with ease. First, tie a hand kerchief round your nose, if no gas mask is available. Now, bend a little and start from the corner of the room. Let the broom glide down in multiple frisks, rounding up its collection to a central location in the room. Meanwhile, ensure that no accidental breeze or whirls of the ceiling fan scatter your toil. Usually there is a dirt-stuck scraper to scrap all the dust up, and then glide it all down to the bin. Do so and you are done. If you keep washing your hands with soap afterwards, remember, somebody had to do the dirty work.

Postscript: So after a week of sweeping floors, desultory cooking, doing the dishes and beating the crap out of clothes, there is a kind of self-respect that sprouts in one. Steadily, anything with the possibilities to create becomes art. In all chores, there is a method and degree at which, effort can be minimized, and magnified to the attainment of the main purpose. 

summer shedding

summer 

a tree braces for new

clothes   

Feeding Time

canine friend

gets its staying

rations...

ZZZZZZ......

a tired day

the sky his earth

when he awakes

tea time

drowsy afternoon,

a cup waterfalls

to a saucer pool  

waiting

cobwebs gather,

time splatters red, 

she waits...  

afternoon banter

old friends,

frozen in chatter,

sun, shade

bovine transport

noon sun

loaded with ice

the heat persists   

peanut seller

paper cones

stare hollow-eyed 

to a starless sky   

  

paperwala

cluttered worlds 

flow out of 

gunny bags      

walk

another day

another summer

brimming

homeward

from all things

sold, a ball for

the child

Mr. Drunkard

only one more

said my friends

have one more... 

Umbrella Man

come, sun, come

now that

I am protected forever

beat down on me 

all day 

  all noon 

all afternoon

try you can

but

you can't

you can't touch me 

I am the umbrella man 

can't touch me 

no you can't 

I am safe forever 

I am the umbrella man