IndigOranges

Up till a year or so ago, there existed on Brigade Road an eatery which used to be the favoured haunt of those looking for a unpretentious place to eat and waddle away time. I of course refer to Kohinoor Hotel, which has since now been replaced by a hole- in-the-wall tattoo parlor cum flea market for out of towners. One of those rare unsung gems on this much visited part of Bangalore, it took care of your hunger and chai cravings without making you feel you left behind a kidney to pay the bill. As with my bias towards single screen cinemas, I harbour similar feelings towards eateries that look time worn, squirm away from fancy décor and shiny furniture, while offering decent paisa-vasool khana. This Kohinoor used to shine right opposite the KFC outlet on Brigade Rd., sandwiched between two gigantic sportswear shops. The only inkling to its existence was a Cola billboard announcing its name, and a red door which opened in from the street. The décor, if one could call it that,

He runs around trying to cover up his nakedness with clothes snatched and  pilfered from others. Nakedness brought upon by those who wanted him to wear clothes in the first place, but couldn't reconcile themselves with the sartorial choices he proposed. He then decides the clothes aren't good enough for him. Discards them, not completely though, 'cos he has fallen in love with them, but hangs them in his wardrobe where he knows he can see them and rub his hands over their textured surfaces whenever he wants to. He takes care of them he loves seeing them and reminiscing of the days gone by in the warm caresses of the fabrics. He loves to wear the old ones, but cant resist the pull of the new ones, who offer him a escape from the suffocations of his present. A day comes when the clothes find new masters, the old ones are the first to go, having decided that mere hanging around in his wardrobe won't help them much. The grief unsettles him, he knew he should have let them

these clouds are familiar. The distances must go on. the faces must merge. those horizons should melt together in a landscape of unending hope. go forth traveller. go forth. for the world is wide. the world is small. these clouds may come again. but this time you will be on a higher mountain.

The bus ride took me over thick green hills and more winding hairpin bends than I could count. Not that I wanted to. Me was more content listening to the bickering villagers in the tightly packed minivan and watching the unbelievably fertile countryside whizz by. The air was full of the scents of the rain past. The soil was green  everywhere with not a barren patch. Life was abundant everywhere. And it wasn't keeping quiet. The trees chirped and parroted and screeched and squeaked with each passing bend. The crickets had began their program for the evening. The fireflies were warming up for their performance and he in the van hurtling down the hill towards the seacoast was sleepy with the contentedness that comes from a day well spent. The battered van was sardine packed with locals going home after a long day in the town. There were schoolkids and young collegians, office workers, and villagers with huge baskets and tin containers and cloth bundles. There was a withered wrinkle

Winter has gone. None too soon. Summer is here. Was a spring supposed to be. The days are hot. Nights muggy. The skies occasionally pour down some to remind us of what the monsoons could be. Everyone wonders when they will be. Or if they will be. Moving on is the way of the universe. Nothing remains static. Even a solitary leaf on a short lived branch has a place to be and a time to be in. Good for her.  She came in a time of great personal stress. Found hope and happiness. And then some more. And maybe a promise of a future that could be. Which was not to be. Testing times. Patience. And more tests that the collective destinies of two souls bring with them from a previous birth. Or from the insanities that grew in this very. The moon passes through clouds that attempt to hide it from the world. Succeed they don't. Each night it gets rounder. The light gets brighter. My clouds get darker. The clouds mass together in conspiracy. Calling up thoughts and memori

Revisiting a piece of land that could have been mine to cultivate and enjoy the fruits of. But has been lying mostly barren and untilled for most part of the time i have owned it. I spent the last few years cultivating seasonal cash crops of all textures and tastes, but i know none compares to the bounty that this unexplored patch of earth can offer. The fertile plains of the north, where the mighty vedic rivers water and feed the alluvial soils that sustained me through much of my past half decade and more. Life was easy, so were the women, food was plenty, so were the temptations, and assured bounty from the soil was of course there. But just below the skin lived a demon that constantly nagged and kept reminding me of what i was missing in my life, of what i should have done with that piece of land, and of the potential that piece of land held for me. I have shifter allegiance to several parcels of land in these past few years, some stints longer than others, and some yields r

"This person arrives as a blast from the past and suddenly its time to review the last few years that this person's absence represents. The sheer awareness of the fact that you have spent the last years in almost the same manner of existence, years that could have been spent in a more productive and enriching manner, wasted more or less in pursuits that haven't helped much to become the person that you could have become, or rather had the potential to be." now that's a long sentence. Choices. Crossroads. Moral values and guilt trips. decisions and implications. Parents and siblings. Lovers and exes and Whys. Complicating a life so protected. Just for the heck of it. You love your paintings complicated. Like your coffee thick and strong. Your brush strokes thick and layered. Sad you cant say the same about your hair. Ports unknown and hazy beckon me from afar. Or is it a port i can move on without making a stop at? Am i sailor enough to survive w