His Last Cigarette

It was the second summer of love for me.

The scorching sun set fire to the bitumen-heart of dusty streets.

I was having my second shower of the day, of sweat and grime

Profusion peeping from behind sweat glands

My favorite deodorant losing efficacy

Slowly in unseen, muted vapors.

I felt an uneasy calm haunting me,

Bullying me around the bylanes of Southern Avenue.

She had said, “I need to talk”.

Me, ever eager for stealing a tryst knew

Her impulses could never wait.

Still, this time, deep inside, anxiety breathed.

How bad could this be?

Many storms had left us tempered, bruised.

Yet, love had had its say.

In all its sweet stubbornness.

Eyes used to lazy siestas drowned in a sea of images.

The air, thinning in a moistureless mirage,

Carrying tender promises of sweet nothings brewed

Promises of a more humane evening beckoned.

-‘An Appointment’.

I smiled at myself.

Far down the dreary road, spent souls prayed for relief, paid for water.

Summers in this city surely didn't promote love.

The defiant zombie.

Charmed with love, kissed with death.

I moved.

In a single minded motivated motion.

Where? I did not know.

I was waiting for my answers. When would she come?

It was about time now.

I could smell the sweet lavender of her talcum with my eyes closed

Soft, soothing, reassuring.

It was her only perfume.

Her tresses made careless riddles at me,

As occasional sighs of stale air teased them, trounced them

And went back defeated, fatigued.

Like me.

Leaning against a rusting post, I lit up.

Curls of white smoke, in their sinuous ascent sneered at me.

They were with her now. Traitors!

She hated tobacco, smoke and fire.

I loved them all, within a single delightful wrap

They called 'Cigarette'.

Smoke made her eyes red,

As red as the setting sun we were audience to, sometimes.

Times we discussed Tomorrow and its Bliss

Today, she was late. Unusually.

My loneliness bought me courage to protest my wait

I rehearsed my lines to get even.

She knew my patience hated being tested.

And she loved that look on me.

Now, I could see her down the lane.

A light sky blue on her, cooling my eyes.

Distance diminishing with her every step.

I had already forgotten my lines.

Rebuke had escaped its rickety prison inside my ribs.

But, there was no playful annoyance in her today

A Duchess miffed at disservice.

Her eyes were unadorned

Naked with an emotion unknown to me.

What could it be?

She knew how I loved kohl on them

How I could stare at them for eternity.

She always tossed those loving gazes

Into the water of the lake.

They sank, gasping for breath.

Rippling out to their deaths.

I could only sigh. She laughed.

She said it was late.

Always.

And left.

Today, she glanced between my fingers.

As familiarity emerged in her eyes.

A blend of distress and discomfort.

Confused, I took another drag at my stick.

Simmering in a telling sacrifice for me,

It could provide no wisdom today

As I grappled for answers.

I waited for that known sweep of disgust

Emanating from her sleek fingers,

Grounding my prized ‘India King’.

I waited for that familiar look of hurt

To reflect on her hazel eyes.

Nothing like that today.

Something had moved.

More sheepish every second, I stood.

Silence dawned. Love waited.

Words trickled in a crisis

I walked. We walked.

In her eyes I saw a storm,

Nestling its fury, exploding inwards.

She spoke at last.

She was leaving.

Far off lands held more promises.

Promises of progress, avenues of learning.

How I loathed my nursery rhymes now.

How I hated quantum physics.

That cruel idol of ‘Education’ had had its revenge.

And wasn’t it sweet.

My helpless eyes looked up

A bead of pregnant emotion had gathered cloud

At the corner of her eyes.

I could never see her cry. Something snapped within

A deluge of emotions arrived in abandon.

She cried. We mourned. Hours flew.

She whispered, “We will meet”.

The skeptic in me jeered.

The boulevard was replete with memories.

As we walked in silent vigil

We trampled them, muting their voices.

Forever.

Our walk was labored. Long and viscous.

Still, it had to end.

Roads never went on forever. I knew that.

Our last walk together. Perhaps, this was.

I put the last cigarette to my lips,

Waiting for her to throw it away.

One last time.

How I longed for her hand to move,

In one final stroke of playful disdain.

The last act of love at work.

She stared back at me

Her eyes the colour of a pallid evening-sky,

Denuding me of all my strength and weaknesses

For the first time ever

I watched her

As she held the light for me.

Testing Times

Read, I shall.

Write, I will.

Be as smart can be.

To make heads turn

I have to earn

They say, lots of money.

I should turn out

Both stiff and stout

For knowledge makes for pride.

And wealth does count

As paramount

When looking for ‘that bride’.

All investments

Some own, some lent

Must bear this lovely fruit.

That my good name

Do garner fame

Worthy of some to brood.

Sometimes I think

At myself wink

That if I were to fail.

All hopes would dash

And walls would crash

I will have fled this jail.

To me success

Is one such mess

To onlookers pristine.

Out of sorts

Trapped in knots

You suffocate within.

Don’t look at me

For I can see

That cynic-smile on rise.

On your face

It’s out of place

On me it does look nice.

May be my words

Will touch no chords

Unlike last time I wrote.

I pray you feel

In my ordeal

My future goes to vote.

Ghosts of hope

In darkness grope

Expectant eyes on me.

In firing line

It suits me fine

For none will let me be.

For the time-being

I may just sing

That I will try my best.

In two-three days

Anxiety says

I am to face my test.

Under Streetlights

Blinking lights

Shrinking stars

Pavement looks behind

Miles left back,

Miles in front

A stranger comes to mind.

He, toothless, grins at

Shameless fate

An unheard malaise peeps.

In tattered clothes

With peace at feet

A naked beggar sleeps.

My Telephone - Diary

Once in two neat columns it tried to arrange my life.

On the left – Names.

On the right – Numbers

And in between scribbled letters which were meant to be addresses.

A shade of brightest blue,

A laminated cover on which still were written

In my signature ‘Vines and Strokes’ writing

Three harmless words-

My Telephone Diary.

How every new name and number brought thrill,

of growing popularity.....fun .......and much more.....

To ring up and speak in an unsure voice to some strict uncle...

or, at times, to ‘ Living -Questionnaires’. .....

Gave us reason to sulk.....and laugh......and complain....sometimes.

And as familiarity emerged at the other end in another overjoyed tone

of an eleven year old.....

Peace prevailed....time flew....innocence giggled in hushed tones.

At times when school was either lost in the heat of May

or drowned in festive drum-beats of para-pujos.

We shared life back then.

In small sachets of secret jokes and harmless jabs...

......conveyed in codes of 1s and 0s....over distances

which sounded unending and places obscure.

Now.....lost in the race to nowhere...

We have lost touch.

Love ?

I hope to believe not.

My diary doesn’t look its self now...

Tattered at places...

Torn into pieces

It looks at me with studied anticipation

And a knowing acceptance.

Giving the smudged letters a final glance I put it back...

to where it belongs now..

- The back drawers of my old, wooden closet.

Along with my nursery rhymes and frayed pencils and crayons

It will have good company there.

So I hope to believe.

The faded blue of it reminds me of a childhood-

Now I choose to make a relic.

Only an occasional reminder of

Who I am.

It serves its purpose every few years..

while the entire house gets cleaned...or painted.

Memories pound my veins now...

And as I push in the dreary drawer..

With a defeated sigh My Telephone Diary bids goodbye..

to things it meant to me ....once.

Who remembers these days ?

I move onto the next drawer.