The innocent law breaker

Today, unknowingly, by mistake, accidentally, theriyama, unintentionally, in all innocence;

I jumped a traffic signal. Gulp.

Barely escaped the talons of law as a traffic policeman started towards me. GULP.

Mouthed a heartfelt sorry to him, from within a very protective helmet, even as his fierce brows came together. GULLLPPP.

Raced away, checking my rear view mirror for MILES, for blazing blue lights, white shirts, khakhi pants and AK 47s.

Learnt, at great risk (brrr..), that intuition doesn’t work at traffic signals.

Phew.

Written on the tail end of a bike that I saw (and read) last evening:


"I love the girl who's reading this."


Considering Chennai's population, I wonder how many thousands of women the dude's in love with!!

Return Gift

Saw this North Indian girl in the gym, speaking flawless Tamil to the trainer, and realized that the greatest respect, someone can show to a place they live and work in, that's not theirs to start with, is to learn its language and speak it.

Seeing beyond the scene

Beautiful photographs makes my heart ache with longing. (Sometimes) my eyes begin to well up with tears and I begin to pine for some unknown thing. This onslaught of puberty like symptoms was recently (and thankfully) laid to rest when I discovered that, the pining is a result of the resigned acceptance of my inability to 'see' the way a photographer does.

Way to Happy Valley

As with most of life's revelations, I got one of my favorites at a mundane moment in the peak of summer. Cruising down Mount Road, the sun beating down my back and the road letting off its heat as mirages, the saying that 'when everything's perfect, something's wrong' hit me bang in between my eyes as being so right. Since then, I've developed a respect for the many imperfections we come across in life, realizing that its the dash of' lemon', that brings out the flavor. Imperfections are like the crunch in the salad, the almonds on the ice cream, the poppy seeds on a complimentary batch of warm bread.

Perfection is magnificent. Like the balance of our universe, like the way our bodies are formed, like the seasons, like the sun, the moon, the ocean. Like the the Creator and Organizer of all these. But looking for perfection in our own lives is a guaranteed way to Unhappy Valley. Accepting imperfections (which is NOT a synonym for mediocrity) is like coloring within the lines, with an erasable crayon - takes the pressure off!

Pure joy is...

....when an infant accepts my outstretched arms and laughs when I make funny faces and sounds. Because, it has no expectations. More so, because, I know that I cannot influence it. So when a baby, even for a moment, smiles at me, it is smiling at that minute, small, imperceptible innocence that is left in me.

Isn't it like that knows like?

Window Woman

I saw her from the window sill,
Up and down and never still.
Short brown hair and big brown eyes,
Pearls and suede, mmm..very nice.
Now a vision to my eyes,
Now not, it happened twice.
Restless and a little anxious she seemed,
Eagerly awaiting someone I deemed.

Behind her stood a yellow shade,
Maybe in Taiwan, in China made.
And it glowed in perfection bright,
Oh! The picture under, what a sight!
Three little children in colors of fall,
Two naughty boys and a girl with a doll.
Crinkled eyes and gaps in teeth,
Mischief and innocence weaved in a wreath.
The sun shone down on their little backs,
She seemed to see the picture and relax.

She stood by her window for a moment too long,
Were those tears I saw?! She seemed to be strong.
She arranged and then rearranged the flowers,
The table, tablecloth and the lil clock tower.
At the sound of a passing car she would brighten,
When it went past her window her, her features, tightened.
Maybe she was impatient, maybe sad,
Whatever it was, I felt bad.

So I stayed in the shadows and watched her wait,
Whoever she was waiting for, was obviously late.
The sunlight in my room softened and faded,
The window woman was clearly jaded.
Drawn to my very own chores was I,
So I drew the blinds with a heavy sigh.
Late at night when the stars were out,
And the moon looked plump and stout.
I went to my window sill again,
The window woman had my affection, that was plain.

Under the very same shade she sat,
Bestowed a peck now and then and a pat.
Stranger to my eyes though she was,
Her joy to me had passed.
The three little rascals around her were,
To her stories like kittens they purred.
It brought a tear to my eye, this.
Granny and her grandchildren, oh bliss!
So they were the reason the window she had adorned,
And now with their love and giggles she was crowned.