Spices

I was walking down the Notting Hill to pick up some old LP’s from the Portobello Market. It’s a weekend thing that I do more often nowadays than before. That’s when it happened. I saw clouds of spice rising up the air, making swirls and curves and inexplicable shapes, growing with each passing moment. I don’t know how long I stood there, bewitched, literally, by the wavering shapes. I fell in love with the smells- vanilla, cardamom, cinnamon, patchouli, lavender… slowly, I steadied the quiver of doubt in my heart and walked towards the board which in bright red announced “Spices” and saw him for the first time. He was reading the contents of a vial of spice intently and as if someone had suddenly pricked him, he looked up and saw me… no expression, just a blank look at first. Then his gaze turned warm and felt like soft misty clouds on my face. That’s when I noticed his olive skin and brown hair and the good looks that came with them.

Do you ever get drawn to places where you are not supposed to be? I do, all the bloody time… I did pick up a LP at last and what happened in between is a story for another day. That LP was sent all the way to India… Layla (Eric Clapton)….

The song and the man

The adrift mind searches endlessly for something it may never find. The line between the fact and the vision is slanted.

Everyday she learns something new and makes my life worth living. She started singing at the top of her voice today on the home-karaoke set, it was one of my favourites – “leaving on a jet plane” and I watched her, mesmerized by the beauty and depth of her little voice. She has heard me sing in the shower, that’s where she must have picked the words. I started cooking with that wondrous noise in the background. Suddenly I felt her hands around my waist, tickling the hell out of me! I love the child…

Today I was the only smiling female face in the company of others of my species in the tube today. Serenity and calm were dripping from my face as others were pulling each others hair out.

Oh and that male of the species who is forever perplexed at my disappearing act. He thinks he is a part of my story but he isn’t. My world is tough to break into. Very tough.

Be-longing

The cacophony of sounds envelops me… my soul is floating outside its body and I can picture her… vividly. She’s standing in the labour room, facilitating one of the thousands of births she has been a part of till now. She is the messenger, the holder of good news. Her hands bring life to the world, new life every day. She toils and stands the stench, it’s her chosen profession, a doctor by choice. And I love her, beyond reason and doubt. When I turn off the music and everything seems normal again, my heart aches for her... Today, the sky is brimming with happiness and the little voice in my head assures me that my pain will fade away. Slowly and gradually…

The magic

She sways the little bop of a head from side to side and smiles awkwardly. I tell her to stop fidgeting and finish her painting. Her water-colored, small stroked, blue and black, white and red, yellow and orange painting. She doesn’t listen… did I ever?

I remember once, a long time ago, I sat in front of the bay windows and suddenly wished for there to be more colour in my room. And that’s how the windows in my living room bear the little paisleys and lilies and every time sun shines through them, they act like a wondrous prism that brings a riot of colors to my otherwise pink room.

Do you believe in magic…. Okay at least maybe, guardian angels? I was in a rush and as I locked the door behind me, I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten my cell phone in the house. I came running back and fetched it, and as I came back to the lift, I saw it stuck between two floors and a yellow scarf hanging out of it. When I fall ill, I get signs that say I should rest- a missed train, too much rain, an auto stuck in a pothole… Everyday something small, something that you or zee would oversee, makes me believe in guardian angels. The bigger question about the existence of magic? Aren’t we all a little bit of that? That magic!

Reflection

I stand there, wishing hard for it not to rain. The vast expanse of sea beckons me and the shiny mirage-like sand at the chipped corners of the lagoon yearns for me to swish my first stroke across the white and virgin canvas. The linseed drips and the turpentine drops as I mix turquoise with white… the shadows of waves swivel and catch my attention. I try too much at once, the waves, the sands, and the sky. The novice that I am, I refuse to take the beaten path and create a riot of colours on my canvas. My canvas of life…