Here’s something I had written earlier, forgotten about completely, and rediscovered recently. Since summer is still marauding us these days, I think publishing a poem about winter still makes sense.
After all, aren’t we all in a perpetual yearning for the beautiful days of the past or the beautiful days of tomorrow? Aren’t we all just looking for an escape even when we know there isn’t one?
The Bombay suburban trains – colloquially referred to as the ‘locals’ – are a fascinating experience.
A strange, harmonious-amidst-chaos world in this city that is little-harmony-amidst-massive-chaos. They are a legend unto themselves, an embodiment of this city, a symbol of its liveliness, anarchy, and beauty, an icon. Maybe it is the innate desire for journeys that endears them to us, maybe the perfect cultural and socio-economic pot pourri that they carry each day, or perhaps it is, bereft of imagination, just the convenience of travel they offer in a city that is too large for its own good.
Just like this poem here, the following is something that just erupted on a ride I took on the suburban rail today.
Hope you like it…
There She Stands (Click on the image for source.)
I believe I can justifiably say that, for I’ve been missing from this blog for the longest time – over a 100 days, WordPress tells me. During this, boy has a lot happened, most of which I wanted to write about here. But for reasons best known to Reason, I couldn’t. And then, suddenly, I couldn’t write at all. I wouldn’t call it any writer’s block, for the way I understand, that is when you at least have a will pushing you to write. In my case, I was blank – no ideas, no desire to write.
This morning, though, something just clicked. I’ve no clue why or how it happened, only glad that it did. Inspiration came, and as is usually its habit, at a place and from a source least expected.
It is a distinctly Bombay experience, the local trains. These days, I travel by two daily to reach the place of my internship at Andheri, changing at Vadala Road. So why am I boring you with the details? Because as I approached the latter, across the barricade that separates the first class from the women’s coach, I spotted this woman. Her expression I can’t describe – which is exactly how I believe it should be between Man and Woman – and stood staring outside the wide gates. As is usual in such cases, I’ve no clue to her identity, nor what she was seeing or thinking. But looking at her, and wondering what gave her the expression that she carried, somewhere Coelho’s divine Word decided to descend once again on my being.
And do I feel happy.
Here’s the poem this episode spawned. As always, I await your reactions.