Dipping feet in puddles
as I wash the muck away
stuck in my black and green methiyadi's
for 45 minutes I've been doing this,
Infinite number of deja vu's
flash right across my eyes
in the form all the red buses
one goes to kothrud
next goes to Pune station
the other one goes to another destination
where I don't belong to
I wait as my offwhite ikkat kurta
continues to get drenched.
The only time I get rescued from the drops
is when an occasional cover from
a stranger's umbrella
pass by me, to catch that
Kothrud or Swargate or station bus.
Sometimes it's only till Shivaji Nagar.
What if one of those Umbrellas have
the same destination as mine.
Now I get a burp.
I can taste the night
in my mouth.
The whiskey
The Tobacco
The laughter
and the pain
I see an old man.
Waiting for a bus. Shivering in this rain and cold.
We are in a similar state of mind it seems.
He is limping. I am numb.
He is pale. I am scared.
I think I am him.
And he is me.
The wait has made me
acknowledge the taste of bitter things.
Spiked with subtle sweetness,
CHEAP BLACK COFFEE.
Mint lemon ginger has vanished
all of a sudden.
Comfort has been replaced by a kick in my face.
The throat misses the warmth of my favorite tea.
I have stopped dreaming these days.
And the smell of the horrible black coffee
brings me back to reality each day.
And keeps me awake and awake.
And lets me forget the embraces and the warmth
that I don't deserve anymore. Or need anymore.
At least that is what i tell myself.
I am standing on a little slope now.
Under the Katraj bridge.
Where buses to my destination refuse
to be on time.
And the rain continues to flow down
like a stream.
As If Im walking down the Katraj hills.
Shall we make paperboats?
My chappal decides to get off my right foot
and goes with the flow.
It wants to join the frolic of the puddle maybe.
Accompanied by a small make-believe paperboat?
I wake up again
Smell the imaginary coffee.
And still wait for my bus.
To be greeted with the cup
of lemon ginger mint tea in the end.
as I wash the muck away
stuck in my black and green methiyadi's
for 45 minutes I've been doing this,
Infinite number of deja vu's
flash right across my eyes
in the form all the red buses
one goes to kothrud
next goes to Pune station
the other one goes to another destination
where I don't belong to
I wait as my offwhite ikkat kurta
continues to get drenched.
The only time I get rescued from the drops
is when an occasional cover from
a stranger's umbrella
pass by me, to catch that
Kothrud or Swargate or station bus.
Sometimes it's only till Shivaji Nagar.
What if one of those Umbrellas have
the same destination as mine.
Now I get a burp.
I can taste the night
in my mouth.
The whiskey
The Tobacco
The laughter
and the pain
I see an old man.
Waiting for a bus. Shivering in this rain and cold.
We are in a similar state of mind it seems.
He is limping. I am numb.
He is pale. I am scared.
I think I am him.
And he is me.
The wait has made me
acknowledge the taste of bitter things.
Spiked with subtle sweetness,
CHEAP BLACK COFFEE.
Mint lemon ginger has vanished
all of a sudden.
Comfort has been replaced by a kick in my face.
The throat misses the warmth of my favorite tea.
I have stopped dreaming these days.
And the smell of the horrible black coffee
brings me back to reality each day.
And keeps me awake and awake.
And lets me forget the embraces and the warmth
that I don't deserve anymore. Or need anymore.
At least that is what i tell myself.
I am standing on a little slope now.
Under the Katraj bridge.
Where buses to my destination refuse
to be on time.
And the rain continues to flow down
like a stream.
As If Im walking down the Katraj hills.
Shall we make paperboats?
My chappal decides to get off my right foot
and goes with the flow.
It wants to join the frolic of the puddle maybe.
Accompanied by a small make-believe paperboat?
I wake up again
Smell the imaginary coffee.
And still wait for my bus.
To be greeted with the cup
of lemon ginger mint tea in the end.
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| Yeh hai rang mere Sulemani ka. Aur Tumhari? |
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