Again, an article published on the Fountain Pen Guild website and something that I feel belongs here. About time I posted it. A real piece of nostalgia because it actually was written a year ago. And is about a time earlier than that.
That breeze kissed my cheeks gently.. waiting for you. The
rectangular piece of garden. With a few roses and the little Jasmine
tree right behind the swing. It was quite fragrant at midnight but in
the late evening, it was just ordinary. The muddy part right next to it.
The perpetual failure of a vegetable garden. The heat was still in the
air. Hanging low.. dipping down to my feet and rising up slowly upto my
neck. Drenching me in its powerful embrace. I felt drowsy. At peace
even. Waiting for that pleasurable sound of the bike coming to a rest
right next to the gate. Never too soon. Never too late. Just welcome.
Every time. All the time.
Sliding my feet into the soil.. in, in it went. The bald piece of
earth beneath the swing where a hundred kicks made it bare. Sad. Poor
soil. Pushing my feet into it. My toes covered in dry brown dusty soil.
Oh, it was warm. It was nice. Finding place under my toenails, will find
a new home with the water that washes it away. Find solace.
Companionship. Everyone needs someone. Just someone. Even to wash you
away, take you to a different place. Not bad. Not good. Maybe just
different. I got up and crumpling the dry withering grass under my
feet.. trampling upon the earth.. found myself strolling aimlessly along
the imagined little lanes and paths.. the singing tributaries of the
dying afternoon sun. The heat hummed in my ears. Buzzed next to my
My mind travelled along the yet unsunken treasures of a life yet
unlived. Everything, yet undone. Uncalled for. Unseen.. unseeing. Simple
and happy. I hopped on from the crinkly grass to the tarmac. Coarse and
hard beneath my feet. So satisfying, specially after the ticklish
feeling of the adorable grass. Go on go on. Pseudo smooth cement. Aah.
Dust and leaves. Someone should clean you up. And burn you. Those
burning people. My eyes fell on my white trousers. Oh now that’s dirty.
So glad it doesn’t matter. Hands reach out to the gate. Iron and dust.
Thin bars stretching all the way. Used to ride on this poor gate. Hah.
Imagine doing it now. I still do. Old things always strong enough. I
rest my arms on the gate and bury my head into the little niche made. Oh
come on. Please. Quickly.
Feeling the gate creak and groan and then stepping out into the
tarmac.. stings. Burying my hands intomy pockets and whistling some lose
tune. I go on the road and turn back.. tracing my way back to the
garden swing. Step by step, feeling by feeling. Sit on the swing for
some while, leaning against one handle, hugging the chain, sighing. Poor
child. Unlucky hour. The slow wait. Trundling down the boundaries on
the garden, peering down at the shrubs and the little rose buds..
flicking at the overgrow, ripe fluttery roses. Petals falling of.
Getting terribly sadistic at one and just leave a lone petal stuck to
the centre. Dirty yellow and dark red. Smirking and moving on.
Stepping on the ancient tree trunk right in the middle. Little
green shoots coming out from it. So cute. My eyes move up and the
wonders never cease.. happiness never exhausts itself working for me.
Grinning from ear to ear, jumpy and excited like a little kid. Holding
my own hand, squeezing it gently and steadily.. oh God, the long wait. I
plan to anchor down at the front gate and give my chin some rest on the
corrugated iron.. eyes swimming over everything on level. Smelling the
mustiness. One two three minutes. One two three. I feel footsteps next
to me. Well, hello, stranger.
Polite unlatching and unhinging. Come ON. Hurried hand snatching
and pulling and pushing. Go go go. Not inside. Not yet. Resisting, worn
out sports shoes, followed by a pair of bare feet, pushing and shoving
and then leading gently by the hand. Come on. Smiles – too knowing and
sort of confused.
Those eyes. Pandora’s box of happiness. Feeling the grip tighten
on my hand.. I have something to showyou. Right there. In that little
tree. Next to the old stump. Close now. Tiny droplets of hidden
musicsprinkling on to the ground around us. There. A nest. Newly built.
I know it wasn’t there a few days ago. I undertake frequent enough
explorations of this place. Peering in closer.. see.. little baby
eggs. Aww. Little effable clouds of ecstatic muffled laughter. Two pairs
of hands. Strange.. they look like one. God.
Happiness reflected in two similar mirrors of refrained
indescribable words and wonders. Hands go to mouth. Oh wow. Tilting of
heads and looking very closely. We should leave before their mommy comes
back, you know. I know.
Creaking of the wooden door, gently slam and latch. That was just
simply the best sight I have ever seen. Thank you very much. I know, I
And the world sways gently to the murmur of those who loved.