(Continuing my series on Parks in cities. This one on Central Park) माया नगरी, माया बाजार,भांडवलशाही राज्यांचे हे सुवर्ण दार.काम नाही तर राम नाही,काम नाही तर राम नाही,शहराला या आराम नाही. तरीही, भाग्यवान मँहँटनकरांनाआहे एक हक्काचा हिरवा गालिचा,सामान्य माणसाच्या यादीत असतोCentral Park चा फेरफटका. भटकता भटकता दिसते, त्या एखाद्या गरीब बापड्याला,Park मधून डोकावणारे ते पंचतारांकित शहर.तेंव्हा चंमचंमणार्या त्या मंझिंलींचीही भिडते […]
This is still a special story. Four school friends. Three girls and a boy. Living across different continents over different periods of time. Most importantly at different stages in their lives. The only time the four of them have been together are the couple of carefree odd years they spent in Mumbai in their early twenties. Then? Well, adulting is a serious business.They all got caught up in their lives. Their priorities shifted.The phone calls became infrequent and the messages said they were having time of their lives. Ofcourse, there were moments of ” Tell me I will buy that next ticket and be right there”.You know what the other person at the end of the phone will say to that statement, right?They did have their share of holidays together. Amsterdam, Spain, Paris. But each time, there was a person or two missing from the plan. But in November 2018, I had a rare smile on my face as tepid waters washed my feet. The foursome were finally together.It was only a three day trip. What felt like years of waiting had finally come true.A Goa trip with friends.Isn’t that a coming of age thing for every Indian millenial child ever? So, what if it was a decade too late.It is still what these silly people kept alive in their hearts. Love and Hope.After all these years.
Mixing, kneading has already been dusted.My weekend beauty sleep has been busted.That occasional clank of the pan withthe soft rattling rolling-pin.A warm doughy waft invites me in. The flour and oil, rolled into a ball so tender.A Phulka, a Paratha, a ghee laden Puran poli, I wonder.I enter nonchalantly and say,”What’s cooking?”Shrinking well below three feet when she says, ” […]
The sense of territory is undoubtedly an animalistic instinct. The sense of ownership is even more powerful…my hands, my clothes, my family, my home, my tribe, my country. Mine, Mine, Mine.It’s always I the fool versus their behaviour, their haughtiness, their mischief.We create titles to the land, we write lenghthy wills and we draw territories. We refuse people any right […]
GetTo the end of the queueYou middle-class phoren aspiring Indian. ThinkAbout the endless lines in your nationYour forefathers held for landlines and ration. HopeWith a sincere belief to mould social echelonsYou liberal English-speaking phoren aspiring Indian. TradeThe comforts of your rootsYour progeny begets better future. SmileAbout the dead-end jobYou mediocre middle-class phoren aspiring Indian. WaitWith the sweat on your browYour […]
Take a piece of cloth,not too long, not too short.Boring plain or with dotsit’s a tutorial for the soul, so don’t tie yourself into knots. Wrap it around your head like a veil,now wrap it around your neck with ends dangling like a tail.Fold it across your shoulder or tie it around waist.Do you look your best? Maybe wear it […]
हार तुरे बांधा, रांगोळया काढा,आपुल्या भेटीसाठी काहीतरी जल्लोष करावा.खूप दिवस झाले भेटून याचा आहे FB वर पुरावा,Whatsapp मुळे म्हणे कमी झाला आहे Timezoneचा दुरावा. तुझ्या घरच्यांसाठी Chocolate चा डब्बा, तुझ्या चिमुरडीसाठी खाऊ-खेळणी घेतली आहेत आवर्जून.पण तुझ्यासाठी सखे काय आणू ह्या 23kgच्या मर्यादेत बांधून?‘दिवसभर’, ‘Dinner ला’ म्हणता म्हणता भागते Coffee वरच तहान,वर्षाचे प्रगतीपुसतक मांडताना हरवून जाते भान. 3.30 च्या बसमधील गणवेषातील हसणार्या कारट्या,विशीतल्या त्या बेधूंद तरुणींच्या पारट्या.आठवणींचा पाढा म्हणताना होतो कंठ हळवा,दोन तासांच्या भेटीत साजरा होतो जीवाभावाचा सोहळा.
A bustling vibrant market with the aroma of coffee beansLounging around in unwashed tee and jeans A silent tear as the Bhairavi ends in an ovationWatching a melodramatic movie for the Nth time giving you the same sensation Completing my sentences whilst pressing their arms against mineUnspoken words between us staring silently at a glass of wine His half sunlit hazel eyes as they search for me in a crowded roomThe soft twinkling fairy lights in midst of winters gloom Her gentle fragnance comforting my nose as I hide my head on her lapTucking into familiar bedsheets for an afternoon nap Brushing my hair strands behind my ears as he holds my faceWhilst I quietly slip into his warm embrace This and somewhere in betweenI return to a place called home. 13 April 2018