With mekie calling this a phoenix blog and polite friends sending in smileys.....I am tempted to write about yesterday evening, simply being itself.
The best part of working for a fortnightly are mondays and tuesdays on a lean week......the stories are still still trickling in, book reviews and artsy stuff.
So as one leaves for home by 4.30-5, there is a lightness in the step and the world outside is yellow and mellow. Otherwise one doesnt get to see the evening sun at all, nor the bustle of the evening market.
In an auto down Chintadripet's crowded main street.....scents and smells of an usual evening are immensely pleasurable. Reminiscient of university days down the same route laden with books.
As traffic stands still, my grandmum's childhood memories of the side streets, kite-flying, the old cook, and playing alongside my grandfather take life in the five-feet high smoke.
Back in the present:
a police wallah makes a u-turn on the congested road, bus drivers make way for an old cyclist on a narrow gali. agarbathis for ganesha fail before the fish market; colourful temple stores and flower sellers make brisk business. tumeric and queuing sick patients, flower garlands and tea-boys, 40-kgs of rice balanced on a skinny TVS 50.
Walking down, I make shadow figures, file in step with school kids and look behind hoping my brother would join for an early evening of fighting and pulling each other's leg.
Milk with grandparents; they catch up with the newspaper as I look down on the street. Rudely inquisitive neighbour readies to make a kolam. White poetry on unyeilding black.
I swivel and bask in sunlight streaming down french windows that illuminate my grandpa's junk. It doesnt seem so bad after all. My aunt's smile at an early entry and warm noodles. I curl around a magazine on the terrace, watching the sun set, promises to read forgotten.
Glimpsed once in a fortnight, these evenings are special. I never knew they existed when I got back from college teaching most afternoons.
grinning lazily,
romila ;)
The best part of working for a fortnightly are mondays and tuesdays on a lean week......the stories are still still trickling in, book reviews and artsy stuff.
So as one leaves for home by 4.30-5, there is a lightness in the step and the world outside is yellow and mellow. Otherwise one doesnt get to see the evening sun at all, nor the bustle of the evening market.
In an auto down Chintadripet's crowded main street.....scents and smells of an usual evening are immensely pleasurable. Reminiscient of university days down the same route laden with books.
As traffic stands still, my grandmum's childhood memories of the side streets, kite-flying, the old cook, and playing alongside my grandfather take life in the five-feet high smoke.
Back in the present:
a police wallah makes a u-turn on the congested road, bus drivers make way for an old cyclist on a narrow gali. agarbathis for ganesha fail before the fish market; colourful temple stores and flower sellers make brisk business. tumeric and queuing sick patients, flower garlands and tea-boys, 40-kgs of rice balanced on a skinny TVS 50.
Walking down, I make shadow figures, file in step with school kids and look behind hoping my brother would join for an early evening of fighting and pulling each other's leg.
Milk with grandparents; they catch up with the newspaper as I look down on the street. Rudely inquisitive neighbour readies to make a kolam. White poetry on unyeilding black.
I swivel and bask in sunlight streaming down french windows that illuminate my grandpa's junk. It doesnt seem so bad after all. My aunt's smile at an early entry and warm noodles. I curl around a magazine on the terrace, watching the sun set, promises to read forgotten.
Glimpsed once in a fortnight, these evenings are special. I never knew they existed when I got back from college teaching most afternoons.
grinning lazily,
romila ;)
look within: ganesh and auto wallahs vy with each other for space. taken by me
3 comments:
White poetry on unyeilding black. Poignant indeed! Nice, carefree writing. Do you work in a forthnightly_ _? How exciting it must be?
You didnt mention the stench of the fish market that pervades that entire stretch of road?
Thanks romila and ladybird!
I am trying to get into the groove thanks to some enthusiasm right beside me.
romila ;)
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