Contentment

I dig. I started with the driest part in my backyard. We had not seen rain in a few months. Autumn just started. The light was bright, the breeze had the slightest moistness to it. I shiver at the word moistness! I hate it. Moist! Moist! Yuck.

Anyway I had watered the area last three nights. The water had soaked right through. Just like my sweat soaks right through my cotton T-shirt. I fan myself with my t-shirt - the momentary ventilation cools my skin but it is still slightly warm when I resume digging. the water had loosened the soil so breaking through the first few inches was easy. Little pebbles and gravel ping against my shoe. I also brush away looser soil with my hands. 

I keep digging. Slamming the shovel into the soil, I also add an extra pressure with my feet and push it a little deeper. More soil, slightly damp. A few more shovelfuls and I hit the wet wet soil. Then I see the squiggles and wiggles. Earthworms!

I love earthworms. The most gentlest of all creatures. Ever since I read about them in high school, I have a soft corner for these creatures. Just after the rains whenever I see them, wherever I see them, I smile. If they are in the path of high foot traffic, I take a stick and move them to the side.

I call out to my daughters - both of them come running. I remove my gloves and gently take my older one's index and guide her to touch it. She squeals and laughs. The younger one moves in and leans on my back and whispers that she wants to touch the gummy worms. I pat her cheek, but don't correct her.

We sit there, looking at the worms.

Tears

 It looks wonderful up there. Hanging beside other works of art, it looks wonderful up there.

A tap on my shoulder; I turn around. "That is a beautiful painting!", exclaims the guest. She is very enthusiastic about the work and very profuse with her compliments. I thank her. I can't stand there any more. As I navigate around the gallery, I see so many other paintings. One particular piece arrests me. I stand in front of it and I can not move. I look deep into the picture. The weave of the color and the depth of the brush strokes are all amazing. I am breathless. 

I immediately turn around and search for mine. It looks amateur and childish. A splotch of colors. I am disgusted by it. I am so angry at myself - I grind my teeth. I am desperate to pull it down, rip it apart. What arrogance did I have displaying it here? What talent did I have? How could I revel in this ability?

I run out of the gallery crying - hot tears spilling on my cheeks. I can almost feel the blood in my lips from squeezing them hard. I lean against the cold stone wall - their iciness provides solace to my fevered body. He comes up to me. "If you feel angry, channel it. If you feel inadequate, get better. If you feel content, that is your triumph. You are allowed to feel all this. You are not an impostor. Learn to work through it." I take his cigarette and let the tears flow; I will get better.

Summer

Heat.

Heat.

I can feel the waves rising up from the earth. The sun is shining in the sky. I looked at it directly. I looked for a few seconds as if willing it to stop providing the heat. My bare feet brush against loose soil and small stones. The earth is cracked. As I look at the cracks, they slowly start resembling the wrinkles on my face; the cracks in my hands. I lean down to grab a handful. The ground is so dry I rise back with dirt under my finger nails. Dirt. How quickly we discard what is useful into something we do not care about. Fleeting... temporary.. but this heat..

Heat.

Heat.

My throat is parched. I looked over the field, shading my eyes against the shining sun. I squint to see the edges of my field. All I can see is the cracked ground - broken, parched, and thirsty. My sigh comes heavy. It comes hot.

Family in the time of COVID

I look at the clock. It is fifteen past six in the evening. I close my laptop, fold my spectacles and arrange my work papers in a neat pile. It has been a long day. The lines between my life and work have started to blur. I am thrown into work as soon as I get up. I miss my commute, don't you?
I go out of my room looking for my family. Slowly collecting them for dinner is something of a ritual now. I look forward to my dinner time, time with my family. My wife is in the gym. I peep in, she sees me in the mirror from the treadmill and signals with all her ten fingers. I smile, nod and blow her a kiss. These past few weeks, our marriage has been more honest, truthful and kinder.
I walk towards my son's room. I knock on his door. He is back from his university and is in the final few months of graduating with a Master's degree in science. No response. I peep into the room. Save for the light from his computer, it is all dark. I see him with a gaming console in his hand and headphones around. He is laughing and talking to the voice in the ether. I tap on his head. He turns around smiling. The smile dims a bit as soon as he sees me, he asks the other person to hold, mutes his mic and says he will be out in a few minutes. Almost at the end of a session he says. A couple of years of ago, he would not have responded at all, choosing to ignore me with a cold glance. Now it is not so bad.
I look for my younger one, my baby. She has always been close to my heart. She is still coming into her own, but her heart is strong. She is in the library. She is looking specifically for any first editions I may have. This is not a side of her that I know. I climb the ladder, grab my cherished copy of "Catcher in the Rye". She thanks me and lays down on the chair, arranges herself around my study table and put a pencil behind her ear. She hands me her phone and has me take a few pictures in various positions of reading. I am confused but oblige her. She looks through them, and picks one to go on Instagram. #mydadismyphotographer #firstedition #library #lightreading. I pull her towards the dining room. She is asking me if I will dance with her for a video...
We take whatever wins we can. Cherish what time we have. We are all in this together, and together we will be strong!

The Photographer

I sit with my laptop in front of me. The multiple coffee cups have left their rings to mark the passage of time. I zoom in to one section of the dark night sky with the milky way in full glory. I adjust the color of a few rocks in the corner. I also spot the flash of another camera in the same corner and Photoshop it out. Death Valley was a beauty and a beast on its own. I enjoyed the beauty and the serenity as much as I loved the experience of taking the pictures.
Photography is my life. My life! From the youngest age, I would take whole rolls of pictures and get them developed. It was an expensive pursuit growing up, putting myself through college learning from the masters. The models that I photographed lived on through my pictures - it was the chameleon that I admired, it was the balloons that I purposefully let float, it was the flowers that bloomed in full colour beautifying the wilderness of Utah. Life was photography and photography was life.
I sit back admiring the photo and I get a call on my phone. Work! For the hours that I spend taking in beauty and life, I grind on reality. "Here is the address.", he says, "Get there quick." I quickly grab my camera and labels and hit the road. The place is swarming. "It is pretty nasty in there", he says, "I don't know how you do it." I shrug and go into the house. A robbery gone wrong is never pretty, but I take those pictures for the police anyway. My art might help catch the beasts that did this. Life is beauty so is death. What they say..beauty in the eyes..

Wait for it!

I finish my set and go down to the bar. The bar tender knows me and signs for me to sit down. I grab my glass and turn to the side. She is sitting there with a martini glass, nibbling on the olive. I decide to try my luck and start a conversation. I clear my throat to grab her attention. She continues nibbling the olive. The only indication that she heard me is that her head is slightly turned to me...very slightly.
"Hi"
Finishes nibbling the olive, drains the last few drops of the drink, takes a deep breath and faces me with a bright smile, almost forced, "Hi."
"So can I get you another drink?"
"Sure!". She looks at the bartender and twirls her finger in a circle in the air. Not the most encouraging of signs, but I persevere.
"Did you see me perform?"
Sipping the drink, "Yup!".
"I perform here regularly every week. Did you like my set?"
"Yup! You are funny and..". I wait for her to complete. She just looks back at me and doesn't finish the sentence.
I try making some more small talk. She is really beautiful and I am pretty sure well on her way to getting sloshed.
She takes a deep breath and says, "Listen! I appreciate the effort. Honestly!". I am reminded of Eva Mendes in Hitch. She continues, "Honestly! It's been a long night and I have been on a dry spell for a long time. So why not?" I am taken aback at her forthrightness. I stammer, "Really?"
"Sure! Why not? You are funny and well..funny. Nothing stopping us."
"Are you sure?", I still ask disbelievingly.
"Yup! If it's good then we both walk away smiling. In the worst case, I become a joke at your next gig."
A few months later
"Let me tell you the worst I've done so far. I met this girl at a bar once...". I get pinched really hard. "Not the joke you want to say at your wedding rehearsal dinner..", she mutters with a twinkle.
I agree, not a joke!

With Coffee on Thanksgiving

Coffee is freedom! I grab my Red Velvet Latte, thank the barista and head out. She reaches for the phone. I glance at her, but make my way out of the shop. People are looking at me as I pass them, but the coffee is nice and warm and I am looking to enjoy it outside.

I go back to my spot, and sit facing the street. The cafe's outdoor umbrellas have heaters installed in them, so I am in a cocoon of warmth. People look at me as they pass by. Hurrying on with their lives, to be with the ones they love.

To have and to hold they say. Thanksgiving is the time to be grateful for the things in your life, they say. Big surprises come in small packages, they say. I put my purse on the table. It's heavy. I breathe in the smell of the coffee. Someone suggested this in office the other day and I have been meaning to try it. It truly smells divine. Coffee is freedom! If I could bottle a few scents forever, it would be rain and coffee. No fresh cut grass, the wet smell puts me off. 

I can hear sirens getting closer by the second. From the sounds, at least four of them! I won't give them trouble. I wait in my seat, aware of the fear and anxiety around me.

I am grateful that I finally broke my shackles, grateful that I finally stood up. Too long, the shadows of oppression bound me, too long have the tears stained my pillows. I kick his foot once more. I pour the coffee on him..blood and coffee mix. Coffee is freedom! I sit patiently absently kicking his foot, smiling...smelling the red velvet and my freedom. 

With Beer on the Fourth of July

I look at the bottle in my hand. I hate beer, the smell, the texture. I hate it. I am definitely a wine guy. But they don't have wine at Fourth of July barbecue do they? No sir. Not according to my father. Fourth of July means a baseball cap, shorts, sleeveless tee and armpit hair in the backyard, grilling chicken and corn sipping on beer from the cooler. "That is what people do, son. It's expected from us and we do that. We must always do what is expected of us, son. That's the easiest way to avoid conflict and live a happy life."
I look at him standing near my mother. She is holding his arm and talking very animatedly. He raises his bent head, looks at me and urges me with an imperceptible nod. He has always been able to sense my hesitancy and nudge me now and then. Of course, given that he is my best friend, we had that bond even before we had words to speak it out.
I head towards my father. He is talking to a neighbor about baseball. He follows it avidly because it is expected of him. It presents the perfect picture. He can talk politics as if he was an analyst, all this because he believed the easiest way to avoid conflict was to become homogeneous with the rest.
I bring him aside. "I have something to tell you." I hesitate. But damn it! It is Independence day. I am not like the rest and I am ok with it. I celebrate it and I am proud of it. Now, more than ever people need to own up to who they really are. If it is not who we are then we become who we are told to be.
I can see his expectant smile. From what I know of him it will be change in the next few minutes. "Dad! I want to tell you this face to face. I am gay. Happy Fourth of July!" He is dumbstruck and blinks his eyes rapidly. I want to give him a few moments. I turn and look back, he is smiling at me. So is my mother. I feel free.

With Champagne in Spring

It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, there is music wafting from the speakers at the DJ's bar. Squeals of children splashing in the water and playing drifts through the air. There are dozens of lounge chairs around the pool. Away from the droplets that glitter in the sun spreading more light. These water droplets are like million glass beads wrested away from the chain of light.
The air is perfumed, with the roses. Everyone around the pool has glasses of drink. Colored drinks- pink, orange, green with little yellow, blue and white umbrellas on them. I have a glass of champagne. The flute is glistening with the condensation. The little bubbles dance inside them to the music of mirth.
Ladies around the pool in a riot of color, lazing on the chair, applying sunscreen and adjusting their shades. The men wrestling in the water, joking and swirling their whisky on rocks. It is a great scene. I fill my lungs with the air, my ears with the music and eyes with the beauty. It's a great life..
A lady catches my eye and slightly lifts her hand. I acknowledge with a light nod and walk towards her. She smiles at me when I hand her the glass. "Anything else, madam?", I ask. She shakes her head. I walk back inside. It's a great life..for them! Come the end of this month, I am outta here!

With Eggnog at Christmas

I stand with my mug of eggnog. I have been working at this company for three years. I am an island. I do not have to talk to anyone. My superiors are in China. I do not know anyone at the party. Normally, I would have declined the invite as I have done for the past three years to every single office party. Today, I changed my mind partly on a whim and partly because I did not feel like reheating leftovers from Sunday night's dinner.
Everyone seems to know everyone at the party. Everyone is having a great time. Mariah Carey is crooning in the background. Someone remembered to spray air freshener that smells like snow forests and pine. They begin playing White Elephant. I got coffee shop gift cards. I sit patiently and steal a thermos mug from someone in the HR department. This is the longest that I have spoken to anyone in this office. I am elated and nervous. Too much! I go out the doors that lead to the balcony. I look at empty walls of the adjacent building. The air is bracing and brisk and my breath forms white clouds. I dump the eggnog into the trash can nearby and head back in.
I stand for a second on the threshold before shutting the doors. Someone kisses me on the cheek. I am shocked and surprised and oh, angry! He smiles gently and points up. Mistletoe.
I smile back and take his extended hand.

The girl with snow white hair

I see her at the park everyday.She sits on the bench by the swings and is usually alone. She always has a smile and always has a word for any child whose ball rolls near her feet. She smiles at the parents of the tots with bigger smiles at the grandparents who carry infants around. She smiles.
She has snow white hair. I have never seen her walk. Usually she is seated in the bench by the time I come and is still seated there when I leave. She does not have a phone in her hand. She probably lives in one of the many condos nearby.
I am curious. I let my twins play by themselves. I keep an eye on them and go over to her bench. I start a conversation with her. Her face becomes a map when she smiles, so many wrinkles. So much beauty in her years. She tells me how she moved from Poland when she was a little girl. How she fell in love with an Irish immigrant. How her children moved away from home and found their own lives. She tells me that she would have celebrated her 60th wedding anniversary with her husband if he had not passed away a couple of years ago. Her life has been so fascinating; her views are not disillusioned by passage of time. She still marvels at technology and the joy of life.
Time flies on. My wife takes the twins home and I stay back talking, enjoying her company. It is now dark and the park has very few people. The overhead light emits an orange glow. My stomach grumbles and she hears it. She smiles and asks me to go home. I leave reluctantly.
As I walk, I look back. She takes small steps to the swing. Very gingerly, she settles into the seat. In the dark of the evening, she swings slowly. Like a leaf fluttering in gentle wind. She swings slowly, the girl with snow white hair.

Selfie

The award function is in a couple of hours. I am all dressed for it. I check with my assistant if she has taken the outfit for the after party. I go stand in front of the mirror. I twirl around. I check the curve of my butt on the mirror and make a mental note-  more squats on Monday. I tug the bodice of the gown a little higher. My make up seems dewy enough without the sweat. I make sure she has all make up touch up kit as well. She tells me it is time to go. I walk back a few paces from the full length mirror give myself a once over and smile. I ask her to take pictures with her mobile and figure out the right angle to pose with one arm on my waist. I also notice the amount of smile just enough to look pleased and happy without looking maniacal. Again one last look and we are off.
We arrive at the red carpet. There is a huge crowd on the sidelines already. I look out of the car. My assistant spritzes some perfume on me before I get down. I tug the bodice of the gown a little lower. I get down and wave. They clamor for me to pose for pictures. I feel wonderful. I have fun with the photographers, giving them impulsive poses and glamorous poses; one of everything. I also notice the crowd wanting a few pictures with me. I ask my assistant to take a few pictures with the crowd with my phone. I stand in front of them untouched with my practiced smile and arm at waist. My assistant then signals me to take pictures with them. Some have their phones out and begin taking pictures with me in the background. Some take selfies with me..I smile for it all. The light is wrong, the angle wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!! Then I pluck a phone out of the many extended, turn around and take a selfie. Then while handing it over I delete the picture. I thank them all and wave goodbye. I feel horrible.
That night, #crosseyedspaniel #whysoserious #supwithhereyes #notimpressed #countherteeth start trending with my face plastered all over it.

Past Present Future

I cry for the life I  had. I cry for the life I have. I cry for the life I will have.
I smile for the people that came. I smile for the people that are. I smile for the people that will come.

I cry for the roads I never took. I cry for the roads I never take. I cry for the roads I will never take.
I smile for the people I have loved. I smile for the people I love. I smile for the people I will love.

I cry for all the things I have said. I cry for all the things I say. I cry for all the things I will say.
I smile for the things I have done. I smile for the things I am doing. I smile for the things I will do.

I cry for all the joys I had. I cry for all the joys I have. I cry for all the joys I will have.
I smile for all the sorrow I had. I smile for all the sorrow I have. I smile for all the sorrow I will have.

Will work for food

The heat. I can feel the asphalt's heat despite my thick soled shoes, which is probably why I am feeling it way too much. I don't have a choice. The nights get cold, real cold. I'd rather brave the heat than the cold. My tongue is parched and my t-shirt sticks to my back.If I could see it, it would be drenched in sweat. I am murmuring to myself holding the placard in my hand. "God bless you. Help a needy soul".
I look at her by my side. She has been with me three years consecutively growing thinner. I can see her bones. She doesn't judge me. She looks good to me, but I like her plumper and well-fed than the starving bare bones look. I reach to touch her when a car pulls up. He drops a dollar. I thank them and smile. I know how I look to him. Broken decaying teeth, shaggy hair, dirty nails with the musty smell I seem to have developed.
I see the golden arches beckoning me. They have a meal for a dollar you know. Should I wait or should I buy a meal now? Another car pulls up, she drops a fiver. She wants to know our names, "Daisy" I point to the one beside me, "Duke", I point to myself. "Daisy Duke", I wink. The names change- they have been Bonnie and Clyde, Sonny and Cher, Marie and Pierre, Romeo and Juliet. Both of them look at each other, with amusement I think.
I walk across to the arches. I order two meals and two cups of water. I bring them out sit in the shade. I hold her  and look deep into her eyes and thank her for being my rock. She wolfs down the burger with the patty and spills the water out of the cup.
I borrow a pen from the girl at the counter and write on the back of the placard. I am not hopeful but you never know. "Will work for food for me and my dog".

The Girl Who Knew Too Much

Dear Diary
You are such a treasure box to me. I read through the stuff in you almost once a week and look at the rewards I reap.
When J dropped me yesterday, I simply said "I know" and gave him a sweet smile and today he took me to the mall and got me the cutest pair of Jimmy Choos. I am looking at them now, maybe I should wrangle a nice little dress to go with it as well.
I saw the bus driver kiss the R from the cafeteria behind the gym.R should have been in class but guess she bunked it somehow. I would not have been there if not for the sounds.Boy! It was disgusting to look at. Although I waited for sometime before I let them know I was there. And I smiled that sweet smile. Now they know I KNOW!!
I saw my mom take some pills a few days back. If indeed she is trying to get pregnant with my stepfathers baby she shouldn't be taking those right! I went through her stuff and put the pill box on the drawer. She walked in on me and I smiled at her as well. Lets now see how I don't go on the Eurotrip everyone else is going.
Stepdad was watching some stuff on his laptop he shouldn't have been watching at ALL. Gross alert!! But now he knows I know..I haven't decided what I want yet out of that information but its good to have security! See I was paying attention to the class as well as the stuff that K was writing her about her brother. That is something I can use as well.
I can not wait for the stuff people do! Information is such power..I love it..I love you and I love me! Maybe I should give myself a cool name. How is this?
Yours...The girl who knew too much! XOXO

#23

Pull a black hair out and you lose that follicle, but pull a grey one out and you get 3 hairs in its place!

Reconnecting

There is a private message on my Facebook page. I am curious as to who is sending me a message at this time of the night. It is her. She is not on my friends list, but managed to find me through mutual friends. My profile picture is my high school yearbook picture. That is when I felt at the highest.
I messaged immediately. She was the love of my life. We had four intense years together and after high school it became clear that we were meant for different purposes. I had grand schemes of opening my own business, she wanted a family, a house and a dog. Dead weight.
She wants to know if we can meet for breakfast. She will be passing through the town, our town, now my town. I say yes. She was a stunner back then. I had no way of verifying since her profile picture was some shot of a mountain and sun. I can't sleep. It has been two decades. Does this mean something?
In the morning, I get up and quickly wear my blue jeans and grey t-shirt. The t-shirt is one of many with Captain America's shield on it. I comb whatever is left of my hair and holler to my mom through the door on the way out.
There is a shiny Tesla parked near old trucks. I pull up my bicycle next to it. I walk in and  run out of breath. I see her brunette hair shining in the bleak morning light. I go behind her and say hi. She turns and I run out of breath again. She is still a stunner. She smiles but there is something in her eyes. I think, disappointment maybe. I sit down.
She asks me what I do. What happened to my plans? I still have grand schemes. I just like planning and dreaming better than actual implementation. She is married, no kids. A high paying salary. We hit a lot of awkward pauses. A lot. How are my parents, she asks. I live with my parents still, I say. Awkward pause. I scratch my belly absentmindedly. How long is she staying? She had originally planned on staying the day, but now she is just passing through. We sigh and look out of the diner. My mind is full of memories, the love, the intensity, the cooling. I'm kind of sure she is looking at me but is really seeing me as that teenager. That is when I felt the best.
She hasn't touched her breakfast, but asks for a refill of her mug. I excuse myself to go to the restroom. I look at myself in the mirror and see myself- balding, paunchy, ageing. I was best when I was a teenager.
I come back, the Tesla is gone. The steam in her coffee mug is still rising.

Anonymity

Anonymous, January 15, 2010
I would never ever step out in such a bizarre outfit. Why is she called a fashion blogger again?
Anonymous, March 21, 2011
What? Is this for real? We are supposed to believe you baked this with 3 children running about the house and one on the way? Y'all she is definitely lying.
Anonymous, June 24, 2014
Yikes. Go back into the house. That is no part of your body you should be showing the public! Disgusting, where do you learn your culture and traditions from? That is such a jelly belly and what ugly scars. Dont even think of coming out in that outfit for running, who wants to see all that shaking.
Anonymous, December 17, 2013
That is some disgusting painting. YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO TALENT. Stop burning our eyeballs with those eyesores.
Anonymous, July 15, 2012
This is voice cloud not noise-cloud. You should not sing if you do not know how to sing. All orrible singing, off-key and tonedeaf. If you audition for American Idol, it will be nice to see the judges reaction to your horrible singing!!
Anonymous, September, 2010
This is such a shame. Dressing up a baby boy as a girl with wings and stuff, that boy is going to be messed up. This is why perversion is on the rise, because we encourage it to be.
Anonymous....
..............

That one!

We all have that one girl in our life who apparently seems to have it all.
The girl is super fun, smart and sassy.  She can do things with ease. New things she does easily and old things, she is an expert. She has no qualms about speaking her mind and people adore her for it. She is just as quick to apologize if she is wrong and people quickly forgive her. She is always full of positive things to say about you and even the negative ones seem constructive!
She can sing ,she can dance, she can play the piano and she can play the banjo. And she can make you dance and have fun. She is open minded about a lot of things and very traditional in a few. She knows the world affairs, she even knows who's the President of Fiji and can name all the moons of Saturn.
She is funny but her sarcasm is sharp. She is fit and she can run a marathon. She does Yoga everyday and watches Project Runway. She is good at math and can calculate discounts in a flash. She can bake, cook and barbecue without breaking a sweat.
We all have that one girl in our life who apparently seems to have it all. I hate this girl. I should hate this girl, but I love her, she is my best friend.

Broad strokes

I look around my kitchen. It looks clean. Everything has been put away after lunch, washed and dried. The leftovers packed away in boxes for tonight's dinner.The house is empty save for the sound of the grandfather clock. There is a gentle breeze that stirs the blinds and light plays hide and seek. I fall into the haze of the afternoon magic.
Not wanting to fall asleep, I walk out of the house into the backyard into the outhouse. That room has been locked for many years. As a newly wed bride, I stocked up on the usual supplies hoping to unleash my inner Saraswathi- paints, dyes, colors, brushes, canvases, oils. I became the Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva instead, of my own little world. My family grew, thrived and went away leaving me alone.
I tentatively step into the room. Dust has not gathered because I would periodically come in and clean everything up. I find the easel and the colors. My hand affectionately brushes the palette. My life has been a myriad of colors, from the warmest blue to the brightest yellow to joyous green and mournful black.
I hesitate before choosing my color. Red. Vibrant red. Life goes on. I start with small strokes, with an unsure hand. Then my instinct takes over. Broad strokes, broader strokes. Life goes on. The white vanishes from the canvas and is a mosaic of reds. I see myself in the red and the woman in the red is dancing. Life goes on.