Ain't no valentine (originally written on 14 Feb, 2018)

It took me a while to write this to you

and this message goes out to You.

Just You.

And I wanted to say this for a long time.

But didn't have the courage to say it all this time.

You make me feel powerless.

The world turns colorless

The emotion is overpowering.

I choke. I gasp. In a corner

I am cowering

You did it...and walked away.

And I sway, as you leave me

in its wake.

And I shake

This ain't no Valentine

You just got tag lined

That's what happens when you fart,

in a lift.

You schmuck.

****

Have a fresh Valentines day every one!

Under the stairs, we did it. (originally written on 26 Feb, 2018)

We did it.

Under the creaking stairs

that smelled of varnish

and musty wood

Behind the door

Where the clothes hooks caught our hands

and raked our skin

In the attic

where dust rose and fell

into a shaft of evening sun

peeping in

to catch some action

In the corner

as an old lamp shade

watched us from under its veil

we held our breath

and hurried

As we did it

left to right

and again

as we cleaned

the cob webs.

The Toastmaster (originally written on 18 March, 2018)

Wife: Why are the clothes still on the sofa? Don't you all have hands? Are you waiting for them to fold themselves?

Toastmaster: Do you remember that time? The year was 1995 and I was a bachelor. It was different during those times.

Daughter: I wouldn't know. I was told that I was born after my parents were married.

Toastmaster: The yesteryears! I still remember! We didn't have a sofa. But (meaningful pause)... there were three wooden chairs in the drawing room. With hand-stitched cushions. Two red (walks over to one side of the room) and one yellow. My mother would never wash them; beacuse if she had washed them, (sad smile) we didn't have another 3 to replace them.

Wife: That explains your showering habits too. Old habits, stink forever.

Daughter: Eeewwww...

Toastmaster: (poignantly) Speaking of stink, those cushions had a certain smell about them. the smell of spilled coffee, a few drops of sambar, mildew.

Wife: And your farts

Daughter: prrrrr...rrrrrr

Toastmaster: It acquired something from everyone who sat on them. A bit of personality that those cushions borrowed every time from anyone who rested on them. Inadvertently contributed in return for those moments of repose!

Daughter: (hands in the air) Every ass contributes!

Wife: Not in this house, apparently. Shut up and start folding your clothes. Otherwise go make your own dinner, like in the yesteryears.

Toastmaster: ".........."

Daughter: You gotta work on your conclusion. Was kinda abrupt. prr.

Introducing: Ms Karma

Karma ain't a bitch. 

She is an elderly matron who is having a drink, studying the map, and making notes. She is constantly watching the gate and clicking photos of those who go out, come in late, or kicks the dog.

She is the lamp post around the corner that stands her ground, 3 feet deep, and realigns your face if needed. 

She is a glass pane that sees through you and slices you up if you don't respect her. 

She is the unseen bird in the sky that sees the world you live in and drops a warning that wont leave your hair for a long time.

She is a patient woman who stays quiet, bites down on her mouth piece and swings from her fences, as you catch a nap. 

She is an observer who watches you from far, sees you slacken and hurries forward to hasten your fall. 

She is the unseen invigilator who sees what you write, listens to what you didnt say, knows what you truly are.

Then one fine day, she'd take the fire-iron, get behind the person of interest and shoves it in. Happens all unawares, leaves undetected but ensures the press notices it.

Karma ain't a bitch.

Karma is a bad-ass babe with poise, restraint and immaculate timing.

Father's Day

Yesterday was Fathers’ day.

Fathers are heroes without capes, angels with a mustache, the pillars of strength, the silent lovers…social media was flooded with sepia colored photos, sappy rhetoric and certainly a lot of love.

But they aren’t any of that. Or, perhaps a lot more. But they are also something else.

They are the ones who fall silent under questions like:

How you saved enough for a rainy day? Do you understand? Do you love me? When will you stop believing in your stupid friends? Why do you waste money on these silly things? Why don’t you do something? Why can’t you be like HIM?

They are the ones who leave for work wishing that it would be a better day than yesterday. Wishing that the trousers fit, not worried because it isn’t healthy, but it would mean another purchase.

Smiling embarrassed when an old classmate reminds him of the young rebel who wanted to change the world, but now looking at grocery bills and wondering if the total is correct.

Feeling angry when she asked why they can’t go for a cruise when her friend’s family took even their grandparents along.

Realizing that his daughter outgrew the birthday parties she could never host at home because the house was small.

Wondering why his temper gets ahead of him so often and regrets the words that left his mouth, and hopes it would be alright in a day or two. Or never.

Shares a laugh with his friends over a drink and wishes he could start all over.

Unsure if he loves them enough or is there something he has forgotten.

Unused gym memberships, unread books on the shelf, wasted appointments with the Doc.

I will do it tomorrow. I will win the lottery. I will do better.

With a wry smile, he gets into bed, looks at the ceiling and wonders why sleep never comes.

He is insecure, worried, stressed out.

He is flawed.

But he gets a day in a year he is called a Super hero.