He Won't Return

On my way to work today, I saw the body of a man, who had met with a gruesome accident. His body, which was dead, lay sideways on the road. His legs were still on the bike he had been riding. His helmet lay scattered in pieces, over the road. Now, I could give you a mean description of the rest of the scene, but I would refrain from doing so, for fear of being called a pervert. Specially, when I am a woman, and most of the people I know who visit this blog are women, or sensitive souls. The only part I would betray is that his neck was a stump now, and he had no head, the only consolation being that he was dead, and thus not present to feel the pain.

My autowala shuddered all the way to Forum, where I was to get down, and I don't quite remember how much I paid him. The news was a sensation all along Banerghatta Road, so that Autowalas were exchanging info amongst them and bonding with techies on bikes, imparting the knowledge with appropriately masculine gesticulations.

I wondered if these people would remember this incident, the nerve wracking sight, which some unfortunate few witnessed. Will they pause for a moment, before they raise their speed limit the next time. I get a few words in my head today, and I dedicate them to that unknown man, and his family who now have to be brave.

My son today
Will not come home
While I sat and counted my grey hair
They pushed him into some unknown space

My man today
Is gone
While my eyes stormed out
My heart’s infliction
They snatched my colours away

My father today
Will not return
While I drew a family portrait
They erased his essence clean

They washed the streets with him
They cut his cords within
They clicked good snaps
Of the patterns his blood made
Across the ebony streets

Hey! Let's go smell some flowers..

A bush of May flowers with the bees about them;
Ah, sure no tasteful nook would be without them;
And let a lush laburnum oversweep them,
And let long grass grow round the roots to keep them
Moist, cool and green; and shade the violets,
That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.

I Stood Tip-toe Upon a Little Hill
John Keats

Delicious words, those! Keats did have a way of choosing his vocabulary. Bunches of letters that would roll delectably on the tongue, while the same happened to his ideas in the brain. Drunk on
them I was, when I came out of college, a mediocre, yet passionate young graduate in English. Now I just ponder on the past, when I could smell the May flowers and feel their soft petals on my unemployed palms.

Well I like those lines. Though they do remind me of all the flowers I didn't get to smell, while I was wrapped up in all the colour co-ordinated stolls I bought with my last era's hike, in the office AC. Now, I think this only happens in Bangalore. In the month of January, you step out of the house, dressed in the latest (possibly skimpiest...chuckle!) summer clothes, pull on your swanky sun glasses and walk away, welcoming the wind on your cheeks and those loooooong looks the boys are giving.

And then you reach the big doors of the employers. They beep open as you swipe your i-card (all hi-tech we are). And then...you are blind! Oh! Of course, no son of a natural sunlight will be allowed near your cubicle. All that is for the manager. Yes, correct. The one who forgot to mention your part in closing off those ten tickets last week.

And its chilly. Well, its January. You pull out the warm jacket you packed in and sigh as a shiver escapes your limbs. But the servers, they need to be frozen. Or some such data you heard, the last time you complained about the AC.

Well, time to look hard working! Sun glasses pulled off. Frown on forehead. Modesty covering all sun-loving arms. And let the show begin...