Where is it?

No I didn't look under the bed. Didn't check every nook and corner of my room. I don't even know what it is that I'm looking for.

I asked Bruno, and he doesn't know either. He just whined and sniffed me, as though it is inside me somewhere.
And I still cannot find what I'm looking for.

Man from Jamaica

Caught up with an old friend today. Among other things he said he was going to the Caribbeans for a few months. The moment he said it I could here Bob Marley sing. "No woman no cry". I could see him sway his long matted dreadlocks wildly. Then I had an epiphany. Of my friend sitting in the beach, basking in the sun, sipping on rum. Ofcourse I could still hear the reggea in the distance.

"Mon, that is so cool", said I.
My man was already there, so he didn't quite reply! Ofcourse if he could he would say, "Anneda ting Jamiacan people no seh 'mon', wi seh 'man'".
I'd reply in true Bob Marley style, "Facts an' facts, an' t'ings an t'ings: dem's all a lotta fockin' bullshit".

Ever since I can't stop thinking about it. This reverie wont leave me. Everything about the Caribbeans seems so happening and "cool". Its about the way they talk. It's about the dope that takes them highya! It about the long matted dreadlocks and the Rastafarian way. Its about the way they dress. The way they walk. Its about the "wooman" from the Caribbeans and how she can dance and live it up. Is that hedonism or what! Its the way of Jah Rastafari! Its like time was frozen. No deadlines. No pressures. No chores. No girl trouble. No problems. No nothing. Just fun in the sun. Wow.

Sometimes I feel I was born in the wrong time at the wrong place! I really ought to emancipate myself.
"Just can't live that negative way...make way for the positive day!"

Tides of her

Blue, vivid blue,
Deep, sonorous, mysterious sea,
Ebbing away to leave me parched,
Till I yearn for her.

Waves recoil, return to sender,
Sands are etched with memories,
Of waves that once were,
Every grain longs for her.

Keepsakes are they,
Lying in her wake,
Those forlorn sea-shells,
That forever sing of her.

Someday the tide will turn,
Vagrant waves, they will return,
Wash away my melancholia,
Undulate with joy.

Three on a Maple Tree

Click the Pic to Enlarge

Oh what a view, from up on a tree,

Thats me, in the red T!

Tring Tring

Tring tring. That sound from hell. They are hells bells, I tell you. I won't lift my face, I'll bury it deeper into my pillow. Stretch out my hands and seek out that dastardly son of devil, that makes this infernal sound. Eyes stay shut, but my mind races on.

Hate my mornings, wish they would go away. The sun should forget to rise.
The printing press should take a break - today's news is as good as yesterday's.
Milkmen should sleep on - the cows have struck work.
All shutters down, nobody will work today. Not me, I wont work. I will sleep all day. If the boss calls, tell him I am running fever. I have coughed all night, something is dreadfully wrong with me. Don't ask me what. I won't tell. Let me sleep, I'll tell you later.

Ok, I have an appointment to keep.
To hell with it, I want to sleep.
The boss is calling on the phone,
Tell him I am not at home.

Oh god, now what's that sound.
So much commotion all around.
Excuse me, can you keep that down please,
Can't this guy get a moment of peace?

Ok now. Calm down, Wriju. People are mad. The world is bad. Not much you can do about it, can you? Speaking of which, I have a hundred things to do today. Lets see now. 9 o clock in the conference room. Lunch with so and so. Get this done, get that done. Call him up, call her up. And then if you are lucky, you can come home early! Now take it easy. Besides what's her name, the girl with the beautiful smile, she should be in today. And ofcourse I need to catch up with him, may be he can help out with this and that.

Ah well good morning everybody. Look at me I am smiling. See I am up, finally. Oops I am running late!

My Best Friend

I walked up the stairs. The house was asleep and I muffled my steps lest I wake somebody up. The gate had creaked when I opened it. I hoped that no one had heard it. I had dropped my key, but I found it shining in the moonlight. The wind felt chilly, and I longed to be under my blanket. So I hurried up the stairs to my flat on the first floor.

And there he lay on the doormat. He didn't move for a while, but then his tail started to wag! He turned towards me, eyes shining in the dark. I think he meant to say, "What took you so long? I have been waiting for you."

I sat next to him on the floor and he crawled up against me."Oh I missed you", he was saying. He brought his face closer to me and demanded, "Ok pat me now." So I patted him. I said, "I was feeling so depressed, little doggy, I am so lonely." "Don't worry", he replied, "just pat me now, and everything will be alright." But after I had confided in him, I was about to cry. He raised his paw to me and said, "Come on shake my hand." So I shook his paw. Then he crawled up to me and said, "Now I am here, so how can you be lonely? Come on, don't worry." So I held him close and said, "Don't leave me, little doggy".

Indirection

Indirection. Curvy lines.
Skewed faces. Pointy Noses.

Scratchy Pads and silly scribles,
Tattered clothes and careless nibbles.

Moody Blues on mossy walls,
Bold strokes and cover-alls.

Sometimes here and sometimes there,
Look at me, I'm everywhere.

Music

She was music. She touched my soul. Every song she sang, moved me.
That night she sang it was so silent. No thunderous applause, no standing ovation. Nobody spoke, not even a whisper. Nobody was there, but me. I didn't speak. I couldn't speak. That night she sang for me.

A long time ago

Yes, it was a long time ago. I can barely remember. It was an afternoon. It must have been 3pm or 4pm. Sunlight kissed the balcony. It was warm but it felt so pleasant. I sat down on the floor – the floor felt so warm. I rested my back against the wall and felt a strong urge to go to sleep. A breeze brushed past me. The sunlight on my body felt comfortable.

There he stood, staring at the garden below. He wore a contemplative expression on his face. He was probably thinking about the rose bushes or the begonias. Or may be he was thinking about tax savings, or the morning’s trip to the fish market. He wore a loose-fitting cotton shirt, and you could make out his bony structure under his shirt. His back arched with age. He had his hands around his hips. This he did probably to balance himself, for age had made him unsteady on his legs. Age had also altered his features. He had a handsome face, but the furrows were deeper now and his nose stood up sharply while his eyes sunk deeper into his face. His hair was silver and that made him look majestic. Grandmother says he was extremely beautiful in his youth. She says I resemble him but she dare not call me beautiful.

He was usually silent and pensive. Of late he had begun to recount to me tales from his yesteryears. But that was usually in the evenings over a cup of tea. His memory was vivid and he had a way with words. When he spoke it seemed like a black and white movie being projected before me. Something about him was so classical, like the sculptures of Michaelangelo. Something about him was also so frozen in time. He kept abreast with current affairs for he read the newspaper in and out. But then the present was such a small part of him. May be that very moment while he stood at balcony, he was reflecting about the past.

He stood there with his head held high. His spirit soared over the house, the beautiful garden and the tall beetel nut trees that surrounded the precincts of our home.

Smoke arose from the tip of her cigarette

Smoke arose from the tip of her cigarette. She lifted her hand, and the cigarette rolled about between her elegant fingers. She took it to her lips that parted lazily. She gazed at me with languid eyes. I shifted nervously and looked away from her. The wind played with her hair. It blew strongly into my face. Every now and then she would brush her hair back. The sun was a now a bright orange in color. The clouds bathed themselves around the sun and assumed many shapes. The waves rolled in, and splashed at the rocks. Then she spoke.

She spoke words that had much meaning. There was emotion in her voice. Softly did she speak but as much as the waves would roar, they couldn’t mute her voice nor conceal her words. Words that left her lips, and twirled in the smoke. Words that bathed in the orange sunlight. Words that splashed among the waves. Words that blew past my face.

Color streaked her face – Orange hues splashed her cheek. Her nose lit up sharply on one side, and cast a shadow on the other. Her eyes were lazy and liquid. They were burning inside – intense at the core, but placid in the surface. Her eyes gazed at me. They gazed beyond me. They looked right through me.

She spoke to me. She spoke so much more than the words that carried to me. Her words then lost their meaning. Like the smoke from her cigarette, they rose but faded away. But she meant so much more than the words could mean. She said so much more than mere words can express. I listened to her, and sometimes I caught her words. Other times I looked into her eyes, and I knew what she meant.