3rd Oct..5 35 Pm, on the steps at landscape pinto park... waiting for friends to arrive...as I am locked out.
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I lead multiple lives…
All those lives, important for me, in their own ways
What you see is of me is not always what you get..
Somewhere I feign more than I mean,
‘cos what I see matters..
somewhere I pine for more and yet not tell,
‘cos what I am seen as, matters…
With some others, I am there, much of myself often times,
On some moments, even with them , I am just pretending..
I sometimes lose myself in these lives,
But they’re so precious.. the loss seems worthwhile..
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Old man and the sea...
2nd Oct 2009, 12 34 PM
There’s this top up shop just below my apartment and for some reason that seems to be the only shop within 5 km of my house on either side here in Goa.The shop owner is an elderly man, probably in his late sixties. I see him there every day, clad in his checked cotton shirt ( it is always checks!) and bermudas, his grey hair neatly set just about two inches above his forehead. Bespectacled, with a broad nose and small eyes, he brings a smile to my face everytime I see him.
Looks like the shop has been there for ages now .It’s as if the people in my society have learnt to live with the basics like bread, jam, milk and soap and the other limited provisions that the shop provides... for I don’t see how and why the shop uncle would have changed one bit in the many years that he’s been selling.
I see him every day opening the small shop at 6 30 am in the morning, with tentative hands, with the stray dog galloping and barking excitedly next to him and jumping at every stranger who passes by. And in the evenings I see the shop uncle again, sitting on that chair with the dog next to him on the floor, in a small room just inside the shop.
I have started greeting him these days as I leave for my bus stop early in the morning. When I go to him to ask for my weekly coffee packet and bread, he would slowly and carefully take out tiny carry bags and most meticulously pack each of the items and make sure that he ties up the bags like he were giving me the most precious jewels. Often times when I am in a hurry and want him to just hand it over to me, he would look at me almost admonishingly and I decide to show some semblance of patience till he finishes his job with perfection.
I get a little worried when I do not see the shop open a couple of times in the morning while taking my usual route to the bus stop, but there he is in the evening, every evening, on the same chair, looking into nothingness ahead, with the dog sitting next to him on the floor. He waits patiently for his customers day after day. With so many boys sitting outside his shop, smoking and drinking the occasional chai from his place, it amazes me how he just sits there with a content look on his face and looks right through them, at the sea right across the road…
Life need not be as rushed and demanding all the time. I am trying hard but that kind of peace with oneself is hard to get. I wonder what it takes …
The shop uncle on that chair in the shop, with the dog sitting next to him, looking across the road into the sea… the picture always tells me something…
There’s this top up shop just below my apartment and for some reason that seems to be the only shop within 5 km of my house on either side here in Goa.The shop owner is an elderly man, probably in his late sixties. I see him there every day, clad in his checked cotton shirt ( it is always checks!) and bermudas, his grey hair neatly set just about two inches above his forehead. Bespectacled, with a broad nose and small eyes, he brings a smile to my face everytime I see him.
Looks like the shop has been there for ages now .It’s as if the people in my society have learnt to live with the basics like bread, jam, milk and soap and the other limited provisions that the shop provides... for I don’t see how and why the shop uncle would have changed one bit in the many years that he’s been selling.
I see him every day opening the small shop at 6 30 am in the morning, with tentative hands, with the stray dog galloping and barking excitedly next to him and jumping at every stranger who passes by. And in the evenings I see the shop uncle again, sitting on that chair with the dog next to him on the floor, in a small room just inside the shop.
I have started greeting him these days as I leave for my bus stop early in the morning. When I go to him to ask for my weekly coffee packet and bread, he would slowly and carefully take out tiny carry bags and most meticulously pack each of the items and make sure that he ties up the bags like he were giving me the most precious jewels. Often times when I am in a hurry and want him to just hand it over to me, he would look at me almost admonishingly and I decide to show some semblance of patience till he finishes his job with perfection.
I get a little worried when I do not see the shop open a couple of times in the morning while taking my usual route to the bus stop, but there he is in the evening, every evening, on the same chair, looking into nothingness ahead, with the dog sitting next to him on the floor. He waits patiently for his customers day after day. With so many boys sitting outside his shop, smoking and drinking the occasional chai from his place, it amazes me how he just sits there with a content look on his face and looks right through them, at the sea right across the road…
Life need not be as rushed and demanding all the time. I am trying hard but that kind of peace with oneself is hard to get. I wonder what it takes …
The shop uncle on that chair in the shop, with the dog sitting next to him, looking across the road into the sea… the picture always tells me something…
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Under my foot step..
2nd Oct, 2009. 8 34 am
The flower that I picked up on the pavement that evening,
White and so delicate...
And yet its smell rousing many a sensation in me…
I could have crushed it under my feet,
Walking on the pavement that evening..
And yet, all the way home, I protected it…
Nestling it away from shoves of the shoulders,
The ashtray that held it in water as I dined….
Seems weird..it could have withered last week,
And it still lies fresh in that water bowl I set away for it…
The fragrance still alive in it..
The course of life that takes another turn altogether,
Just because someone stops to hold you…
At the right time..at the wrong place…
The flower that I picked up on the pavement that evening,
White and so delicate...
And yet its smell rousing many a sensation in me…
I could have crushed it under my feet,
Walking on the pavement that evening..
And yet, all the way home, I protected it…
Nestling it away from shoves of the shoulders,
The ashtray that held it in water as I dined….
Seems weird..it could have withered last week,
And it still lies fresh in that water bowl I set away for it…
The fragrance still alive in it..
The course of life that takes another turn altogether,
Just because someone stops to hold you…
At the right time..at the wrong place…
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