How many people (and we are not counting kids) would ever
have had a crackers & ice cream breakfast? My wackiness is soaring new
heights.
May be on a brighter day, I would have taken the pain to
prepare something remotely healthy for myself on a Saturday morning, but after
a breathless week of work , sickness and two consecutive zombie nights, I am
just glad I am still alive. Breakfast can wait.
Besides, the mornings are simply meh. Not today’s but 90% of
them.
I miss my mornings back home. Does the saying about getting
up on the wrong side of the bed also apply to getting up on the wrong side of
the world? If not, then the sun is definitely a guy with split up personality.
Even before the clock ticks 5 in India, the sun walks in, in his royal
vermillion robe, spreading his arms in the quintessential SRK manner, to
declare that he is going to rule for the next 13 hours. And even though you
hate his burning rage for most part of his reign, its hard not to be swept away
in love, the only time you can look straight into his intense eyes, when he is at
his handsome best.
Here, however the story is starkly different. On the best of
days, like a guy who was out all night and is scared of his wife’s wrath, he
tiptoes in at 7 or beyond. Hangover is written all over him and his assorted attire
in shades of grey. All the while he gives you that sinking feeling of another
depressing day ahead. Who would want to wake up with a smile for such a guy and
make him a sumptuous breakfast? He doesn’t deserve any better than the
leftovers from the previous night? Crackers and ice Cream sound perfectly
normal. Don’t they..
It rained yesterday night, between the time I walked in from
office and I went out for a stroll post dinner. As crazy as it sounds, monsoon
happens to be my favourite season, mud, mess & mayhem included. I can spend
hours just sitting by the window, watching it pour outside. If rain was a person,
she would be a lot like me.
I didn’t miss not witnessing her yesterday. She doesn’t have
a season dedicated to her here. She swings by every once in a while, unnoticed and
sadly unwanted. She doesn’t bring goodies here like she does back home.
Seeds don’t hold her hand to break ground, leaves don’t wait for her to emerge
in their slush green finery. Rather she spells doom, bringing down the
cherished bloom in spring and the golden foliage in autumn. Neither does she
hum, sing, scream or cry..she just talks in measured words, equally spaced
& spell checked. And her sweet fragrance, that augurs her arrival and stays
back long after she has left, filling the air and the earth, mesmerizing every
living soul, well here she doesn’t wear it at all.
I wish her away, as heartbreaking as it is. Doesn’t it happen in life too? When a person
we have known and cherished suddenly changes for the worst, not remotely
resembling their formal selves, don’t we suddenly grow cold, almost like
strangers. It feels easier to live with their happy memories instead.
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