summer

seasons change again, and we dont even notice it. the year wanes. winter is gone, but for the early morning fogs. the buzz of intoxicated bees fill the ear. the sun is warm on our faces in the morning.

the air is fragrant with the dense perfume of all the mango trees in bud. every gust of wind carpets the courtyard with showers of yellow neem leaves which crunch beneath our feet as we walk to and fro. ripe tamarind pods lie in spots of sweet-sour temptation.

everything sparkles with the promise of fruit and flowers. 

one twilight and loud birdcall

a stroll through scented, glazed, hazy twilight air. an everyday magic, a rare blessing.

"what is it that they are saying to each other? all of them talking all at once. arguing about where to go bug-hunting for dinner? i'm hungry, hungry, hungry. let's go eat, eat, eat. fast, fast, fast?"

"maybe not. maybe it is just the familiar family-sharing of conjugal trivialities. i-did-this, i-saw-this, i-ate-this, i-smelled-this, i-fled-from-this-huge-kite....look what i go through for you and the kids! do i get any appreciation?"

"haha. yes. perhaps. also then, the kids have been cawing their heads off all day, they really pick my brains, what do you care? you are off all day gallivanting! i am the one who is stuck with them the whole livelong day! and who gets to be the authoritarian villain? me, that's who! and who gets to be the savior who comes home with the bugs and ruins all the hard-enforced discipline? you!! that's who!! sometimes i think i should just up and fly and leave you and the blasted brood. oh, if only i had accepted that nice fellow who had been trying so hard to impress me in the spring. i had to go and pick you! and what do i get for all my sacrifices? for being a dutiful wife and mother? do i get any appreciation? no, no, no, no!!!"

"hmmm.., how they go on! they seem to be yelling their heads off."

"see that? fruit bats. this is a regular housing colony."

murder noir

the crow is such an elegant creature. black, sleek, the light of intelligence in their gleaming impenetrable eyes. all but gone from my city existance. i wonder why they all choose the peaks of individual, bare branches to perch on? what is it that they think about, sitting there, looking down at us going about our way? how futile, how hurried, how desperate our mad, noisy, dusty, rushing about must seem to them - creatures of wind and light and speed and grace...

i found some interesting bits about crows in popular culture, myth and superstition here and this is the squidoo page about crows in mythology.

i am glad i saw so many of them today. how did they end up becoming the cunning tricksters of my childhood tales? such lovely beings. if there is a life again, after this one fades, i wish to be a crow. 

is anyone listening?

telling tales

little four year old mishri sat in my lap today and told me her pet name is 'mish', and that catterpillars camoflage in the green grass, and that she does not beat up, or pull the hair of, her older sister, and that her mother put her hair into french braids, and that dishita's sister is in harbinder ma'm's class who is very stick. so stick, infact, that she makes you finish everything in your lunch dabba.

gladrags

happiness is a well-fitting pair of jeans. n i have two now. doubly blessed.

cupid's day

IF i had a valentine, and IF i liked him enough to write poetry to him -which is liking him lots- then i would have written something like this -

To My Valentine

More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.

I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than a gin rummy is a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.

As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.

I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch,
And more than a hangnail irks.

I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As the High Court loathes perjurious oathes,
That's how you're loved by me.

- Ogden Nash