Lutyen’s Delhi is beautiful. I love the cool breeze, and the drizzle. As I walk alone on the lovely rainy road, good music blaring in my ears – I feel a smile make it’s way up to my face. Uncles and aunties staring at me. What is it that bugs them so to see someone relaxed, alone, happy? Two bus stops crossed, and finally I reach the Csec metro station. I make myself comfortable on the stairs. My phone beeps to tell me my friend will be late. Good forty five minutes late. Bless that traffic jam. I must be quite a spectacle – my bag on my lap, book in hand, and bottle on side, big smile…stares, stares, more stares. I ignore them all with practiced ease. Today will be my day.
Hours later on the metro, I vanish behind a wall of sweaty backs. My back against the window; I relish the solitude. The metro doors part and push me out on the platform. As I walk my way back home, I am overwhelmed with simple pleasures. My shirt still damp with the drizzle, I recall the hot three rupee chai washing down my parched throat. I recall the amazement on my friend’s face as I strike up a conversation with a perfect stranger. Most of all, I relive the silence, peace and the timelessness of the few hours spent absolutely alone in a public place. Best kept secrets are always carelessly left in the open. No one notices.
Back at home, voices from the other room stab my silence dead with a million words. Heaven. Drop that ‘e’ and you have ‘haven’ staring back at you. Sweet Irony, how bitter can you get? To dos point fingers at me from a wall. Unfinished target lists lie crumpled in the dustbin. As I stretch in my bed, I’m aware of the energy still within me; surplus, excess, waste. Tonight, I shall sleep with a load of guilt sitting square on my chest.
I’ve been told I have unrealistic expectations. From myself, especially. I should lower my standards, learn to be satisfied, let loose. I should also socialize, adjust with friends, watch series of English soaps and be less stuck up. I should accept people’s faults- you can’t have people without any. Why should I be such a snob all the time? Why can’t I just let my pretences down and behave like everybody else? Why don’t I well, basically, get real?
Heh. I can’t do it, because. Glee is not a TV. show. Pleasure is not a scooty. This is reality. I am glad it is.
Hours later on the metro, I vanish behind a wall of sweaty backs. My back against the window; I relish the solitude. The metro doors part and push me out on the platform. As I walk my way back home, I am overwhelmed with simple pleasures. My shirt still damp with the drizzle, I recall the hot three rupee chai washing down my parched throat. I recall the amazement on my friend’s face as I strike up a conversation with a perfect stranger. Most of all, I relive the silence, peace and the timelessness of the few hours spent absolutely alone in a public place. Best kept secrets are always carelessly left in the open. No one notices.
Back at home, voices from the other room stab my silence dead with a million words. Heaven. Drop that ‘e’ and you have ‘haven’ staring back at you. Sweet Irony, how bitter can you get? To dos point fingers at me from a wall. Unfinished target lists lie crumpled in the dustbin. As I stretch in my bed, I’m aware of the energy still within me; surplus, excess, waste. Tonight, I shall sleep with a load of guilt sitting square on my chest.
I’ve been told I have unrealistic expectations. From myself, especially. I should lower my standards, learn to be satisfied, let loose. I should also socialize, adjust with friends, watch series of English soaps and be less stuck up. I should accept people’s faults- you can’t have people without any. Why should I be such a snob all the time? Why can’t I just let my pretences down and behave like everybody else? Why don’t I well, basically, get real?
Heh. I can’t do it, because. Glee is not a TV. show. Pleasure is not a scooty. This is reality. I am glad it is.
Interesting in its plain simplicity...
ReplyDeletethankyou so much, Raghav. looking forward to reading some of your work soon :)
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