Are your dreams in black and white?
My erstwhile roommate had once inquired.
The answer to the question is no.
I revel in the escape from reality, indeed coloured;
Or rather, in the blend of clarity and chaos,
Reflections of desires and many a loss.
The self imposed exile is over,
Only for nothingness to be replaced,
By indecision, undesirable yet inevitable,
Over trips to South Bombay,
And the contents of this oft repetitive blog,
Which tributes, poetry and rants clog.
Nostalgia tends to make you think, overly at times,
And soil memories with the curse of hindsight,
Those which were best left unmarred.
But what else does one while away his time with,
As car rides, like all journeys, eventually petering out in silence,
Punctuated by the occasional ebullience and pretence.
Aren’t these two months the difference,
Between the uncertainty of second year,
And the ordained authority of the third?
The foray into the real world proving decisive,
In the incessant struggle between transgressions
Of ineptitude and supposed expertise.
As I sat revelling in the Mumbai rains,
At Marine Drive, where the city’s beauty is usually beheld,
Exceptionally so on Facebook, over the last two months;
With waves creating ripples,
And Malabar Hill sparkling in all its glory,
I realized that I’ve a lot to thank this spell for.
Revival of friendship, with the added satisfaction,
Of getting a friend turned stranger back, with just a little gumption.
The return to reading, which brought with it the delight,
Of finally knowing what to do with a semi-colon.
And the reassurance that all poets are cynics at heart,
Or that is my deduction from what Mr. Seth tried to impart.*
For the three successive months’ ides,
When I headed to Mumbai, albeit on different rides;
The edifice that the restiveness of inactivity,
Of letting things be, and even bearing the resultant vexation,
Is no better or worse than a hastened move,
A regret inducing course of action.
The cognizance that snideness and being fawned upon,
Are two sides of the same coin.
That the bar of expectations,
From oneself and from others,
Is set too high to be leapt over,
And ducking is not an option.
*- A Suitable Boy begets a post of its own.