Johntie

A 5 morning wind sheeted me in bed with rain drops; hugged the cold and quiet; decided against a walk; counting rain drops, fell away; went to poet Mangalesh Dabral and his collection This Number Does Not Exist; it was the review of Stephen Alter in The Hindu that got me to Dabral; have read it over and over. In poem, Words,

Some words scream
Some take off their clothes
And barge into history
Some fall silent.

Words turned athletic in sleep. At about 6.30 dear old Rama came up with filter kapi; she was not in a walk mood. We discussed breakfast; firmed on coconut rice, lemon rice, potatos and papads. There were no coconuts at home and without coconuts there cannot be coconut rice; and at 7, Raju will not be at Yogi Nagar Road with coconuts; these days bypass him for Basheer Ahmed with a handcart of coconuts, small, medium and large. Basheer comes from the Dahisar slum and parks his handcart at the Link Road-Jayaraj Nagar corner by 7; Rs. 50 for three medium sized coconuts; me do not bargain with beady-eyed Basheer and his off white beard brushing the chest; wish me could buy his beard. As Basheer dropped three coconuts into my cloth bag, me fell forward, rather staggered, a bit. A labrador was scaling me and as me turned he chest leaped; me put down the bag and played with the labrador and his owner had no objection. Six-month old, goes by the name of Johntie, he did what he wanted; his owners asked whether me had a dog; no as a one BHK does not allow for dogs; love them and Johntie knew me was not lying; it showed in both of us; after Naman said bye forever, had no dog in me life; Johntie came in today. Like some prayer fruiting. Now will be at the same spot every day 7.   At home, scraped the coconuts for Rama to figure out an ideal coconut rice, lemon rice, potatos and papads. Breakfast became a lunch. Am into my arm chair with legs up on the bed rewinding a Johntie morning. No words.