COLD
Cold is something an air-conditioned office will never let you know. Cold is not the fake smiles and the courteous exchanges. Cold is not the spiel of a heartless narrator. Cold is not the words of a pessimist. Cold is not callousness. Cold is not the ungifted wallet and book that lie at home. Cold is not mortuary.
Cold is definitely not Aishwarya Rai.
It is the tickling shiver when you walk a few steps out on a winter afternoon. And an excuse for a hug, when noon gives way for a colder night. Cold is much much kinder.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Sunday, January 21, 2007
In An Auto-Rickshaw
Away. A place to go to one day. A promise, a dream. Not an impossible one though. The moustached driver pries through the mirror. Ah, could be that he is scheming a kidnap! What does he know about this adventurous passenger who would travel with him to Away? Traffic threatens to stop us half-way. But hey, he takes a turn. It is a left turn instead of the right one. Hope soars. He makes sure I am still there and not thrown away by the dangerous turns. What does he know that I will cling on no matter what? The roads wind and flatten. Black tar flows into black tar. Meter races wildly, greedily. Oh no! Oh no, oh no! It stopped. Will I be taken to the promised land if I refuse to get down?
Away. A place to go to one day. A promise, a dream. Not an impossible one though. The moustached driver pries through the mirror. Ah, could be that he is scheming a kidnap! What does he know about this adventurous passenger who would travel with him to Away? Traffic threatens to stop us half-way. But hey, he takes a turn. It is a left turn instead of the right one. Hope soars. He makes sure I am still there and not thrown away by the dangerous turns. What does he know that I will cling on no matter what? The roads wind and flatten. Black tar flows into black tar. Meter races wildly, greedily. Oh no! Oh no, oh no! It stopped. Will I be taken to the promised land if I refuse to get down?
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