January 09, 2000
11.38 pm
…The sun finally broke through today for a little while. A piece of land in front of my house, which is called the ‘park’ suddenly came to life. Many elderly men and women could be seen looking up at the heavens and a couple of them sat on the dry, brown and wilted remnants of the grass, relishing the hesitant, lukewarm sunshine, with their eyes closed.
There was a chirpy group of boys too, at another corner of the park. They were eager to get on with their unfinished game of cricket, which they had perhaps been carrying forward for the last six days now, in the hope of a sunny Sunday.
Overlooking the park is a row of houses. From my window, I could see many ladies with their maid servants. They all seemed to be agitated about something and whatever I could make out from their fervent gestures indicated that they were keen to finish off as much of their pending laundry while the sun still shone. Some cloth-lines and balcony walls were already adorned with dripping clothes…
*
It was about mid-day and I decided to change to a semi-formal wear. My brother had come over for the weekend in connection with his doctoral work. He seemed a bit sad to be leaving now. But the train leaves at 12.30 p.m. and there was no choice but to get ready and march. Tomorrow is Monday. Everyone must get back to one’s place of work…fit and ready, or at least looking that way. So I changed and both of us walked out in the driveway.
The car’s engine complained of cold for some time but eventually gave in to repeated self-start attempts. As I looked at the sky, the sun seemed to be moving amongst the clouds and I was reminded o a film that they are going to screen at the forthcoming International Film Festival: “Only the clouds move the stars”.
*
When I got back from the railway station, the sun had already been defeated. Much had changed during the last hour. The westerly was stinging like a thousand nails being driven into your face and the sky was authentic grey. The ‘park’ looked more ‘original’ – A dusty, barren piece of land surrounded by a rusty grill installed by the ‘Urban Development Authority’. There were four lamp-posts that functioned only on important public meetings, or an inspection day.
*
The direction and location of my house do not allow the sunlight to come through for very long. If the fog permits, it nervously peeps through for a brief duration in the first half of the day, in the rear courtyard. During the second half, the sunshine plays naughtily over the boundary wall, which is common with the neighbours. For a few minutes during that time, it comes tantalizingly close to where a chair can be kept. But then it tapers off…just out of reach…till it recedes into someone else’s house…and then gone altogether.
*
In the evening, I opened the autograph book. One of my outgoing students had given it for me to scribble something in it. I thought I would write a brief poem. I started thus:
You sit
in front of me
embraced by
a quiet sobriety
and I
look at you
for perhaps the last time
in my life.
A familiar feeling
of being left behind
dawns upon me
as you silently move
an autograph book
across the table.
I think of
a lot of wishes
that I can make for you
and many heartfelt blessings
come to my mind too………..
But then the thought process was aborted for some reason. No more words and rhyme came to mind and the poem was never finished. So, I just closed the autograph book with a bland signature.
I read and re-read the poem and hoped that something will jump-start but to no avail. There was just a nagging irritation, like the one you feel when the current suddenly snaps off in the midst of an intriguing TV program, depriving you from knowing the end.
11.38 pm
…The sun finally broke through today for a little while. A piece of land in front of my house, which is called the ‘park’ suddenly came to life. Many elderly men and women could be seen looking up at the heavens and a couple of them sat on the dry, brown and wilted remnants of the grass, relishing the hesitant, lukewarm sunshine, with their eyes closed.
There was a chirpy group of boys too, at another corner of the park. They were eager to get on with their unfinished game of cricket, which they had perhaps been carrying forward for the last six days now, in the hope of a sunny Sunday.
Overlooking the park is a row of houses. From my window, I could see many ladies with their maid servants. They all seemed to be agitated about something and whatever I could make out from their fervent gestures indicated that they were keen to finish off as much of their pending laundry while the sun still shone. Some cloth-lines and balcony walls were already adorned with dripping clothes…
*
It was about mid-day and I decided to change to a semi-formal wear. My brother had come over for the weekend in connection with his doctoral work. He seemed a bit sad to be leaving now. But the train leaves at 12.30 p.m. and there was no choice but to get ready and march. Tomorrow is Monday. Everyone must get back to one’s place of work…fit and ready, or at least looking that way. So I changed and both of us walked out in the driveway.
The car’s engine complained of cold for some time but eventually gave in to repeated self-start attempts. As I looked at the sky, the sun seemed to be moving amongst the clouds and I was reminded o a film that they are going to screen at the forthcoming International Film Festival: “Only the clouds move the stars”.
*
When I got back from the railway station, the sun had already been defeated. Much had changed during the last hour. The westerly was stinging like a thousand nails being driven into your face and the sky was authentic grey. The ‘park’ looked more ‘original’ – A dusty, barren piece of land surrounded by a rusty grill installed by the ‘Urban Development Authority’. There were four lamp-posts that functioned only on important public meetings, or an inspection day.
*
The direction and location of my house do not allow the sunlight to come through for very long. If the fog permits, it nervously peeps through for a brief duration in the first half of the day, in the rear courtyard. During the second half, the sunshine plays naughtily over the boundary wall, which is common with the neighbours. For a few minutes during that time, it comes tantalizingly close to where a chair can be kept. But then it tapers off…just out of reach…till it recedes into someone else’s house…and then gone altogether.
*
In the evening, I opened the autograph book. One of my outgoing students had given it for me to scribble something in it. I thought I would write a brief poem. I started thus:
You sit
in front of me
embraced by
a quiet sobriety
and I
look at you
for perhaps the last time
in my life.
A familiar feeling
of being left behind
dawns upon me
as you silently move
an autograph book
across the table.
I think of
a lot of wishes
that I can make for you
and many heartfelt blessings
come to my mind too………..
But then the thought process was aborted for some reason. No more words and rhyme came to mind and the poem was never finished. So, I just closed the autograph book with a bland signature.
I read and re-read the poem and hoped that something will jump-start but to no avail. There was just a nagging irritation, like the one you feel when the current suddenly snaps off in the midst of an intriguing TV program, depriving you from knowing the end.
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