These days we find it hard to set out for a morning walk. Legs collapse sometimes, knees pain. Want to sleep more. Or is it an upsetting to see roads lined with chopped trees, broken nests and deep holes jumped over by hollering suvs and bikesover. The municipal corporation is into trimming trees in May when Niranjan and Ajit and Raja need them most selling wares under their trees. Rama and me dip into our sofas and watch windows with coffee. Newspapers dont pull. Water is set in a plastic tub for crows, mynas, pigeons and house sparrows. Broken Brittania Marie biscuits on a plate as me house sparrows dislike other brands. Grey necks and black necks land on window grills and wait. They do not make a grab. They look around with the neck moving all over. When they are sure of us, land on the sill; peck a broken piece of biscuit, store it in inside their beaks; peck a second time; a third time and then fly away. Hard to make out one crow from another, but when three sit together on the window grill, we are sure there are three crows. Then follow the myenas who walk more with their necks than legs. House sparrows wait their turn and then take over. Far off on mangroves, egrets settle for yet another May day as Rama brings a tall glass of deep pink Sharbat Roohafza of Hamdard Dawakhana (India), a surprise. A black kite up deep in the sky circulates. The best thing about the morning is the quiet around. The society is asleep. None talks. And me muses over Maya. All the mystical writings, improve your life notings, on Facebook, advise quitting desires, searching the Lord, meeting Him or Her. From me window, a feather weight heart, delights at the flowering rain trees and gul mohurs; the red of the gul mohurs go well with the fragrant yellow of the copper pod, dressing the bright May blue sky. Me can never quit desires, passions, compassions; after all you need a life to reach for the Paramatman; me would like to reach for a glass of foreign whisky with Rama on Breezers; life has never been a delusion or illusion; for me it is just lots of fun and fare, a regular film show with many free screenings; some tragedies recalling absent, old friends. Which is okay as we spend the evening under a peepal tree with cement rests in front of a gym; girls and ladies, boys and gentlemen park their bikes, enter the gym fat, come out lean. Apparently, they gym with ipads and selfies. When at about 6.30 evening, every evening, walks by Perumal Mami (named after writer Perumal Murugan) after a regular visit to the Devi temple at Jayaraj Nagar; a close friend of Rama, she is always alone; 'eppadi irrukkel (how are you), she asks, her sure intro; offers prasad wrapped in banana leaves and tilak; we accept it; today is Friday, auspicious day, she says; on Saturday, you can spot the Lady with her banker husband at the Perumal temple on Saturdays; goes her way with a Parkkalam, made famous by Kamaraj Nadar. An evening breeze nudges peepal leaves. Copper pods drop down. The regular, light brown stray, Pagal, looked after by servers at the Aura Hotel, slaps down at our feet.
Friday, May 5, 2017
A Borivili day
These days we find it hard to set out for a morning walk. Legs collapse sometimes, knees pain. Want to sleep more. Or is it an upsetting to see roads lined with chopped trees, broken nests and deep holes jumped over by hollering suvs and bikesover. The municipal corporation is into trimming trees in May when Niranjan and Ajit and Raja need them most selling wares under their trees. Rama and me dip into our sofas and watch windows with coffee. Newspapers dont pull. Water is set in a plastic tub for crows, mynas, pigeons and house sparrows. Broken Brittania Marie biscuits on a plate as me house sparrows dislike other brands. Grey necks and black necks land on window grills and wait. They do not make a grab. They look around with the neck moving all over. When they are sure of us, land on the sill; peck a broken piece of biscuit, store it in inside their beaks; peck a second time; a third time and then fly away. Hard to make out one crow from another, but when three sit together on the window grill, we are sure there are three crows. Then follow the myenas who walk more with their necks than legs. House sparrows wait their turn and then take over. Far off on mangroves, egrets settle for yet another May day as Rama brings a tall glass of deep pink Sharbat Roohafza of Hamdard Dawakhana (India), a surprise. A black kite up deep in the sky circulates. The best thing about the morning is the quiet around. The society is asleep. None talks. And me muses over Maya. All the mystical writings, improve your life notings, on Facebook, advise quitting desires, searching the Lord, meeting Him or Her. From me window, a feather weight heart, delights at the flowering rain trees and gul mohurs; the red of the gul mohurs go well with the fragrant yellow of the copper pod, dressing the bright May blue sky. Me can never quit desires, passions, compassions; after all you need a life to reach for the Paramatman; me would like to reach for a glass of foreign whisky with Rama on Breezers; life has never been a delusion or illusion; for me it is just lots of fun and fare, a regular film show with many free screenings; some tragedies recalling absent, old friends. Which is okay as we spend the evening under a peepal tree with cement rests in front of a gym; girls and ladies, boys and gentlemen park their bikes, enter the gym fat, come out lean. Apparently, they gym with ipads and selfies. When at about 6.30 evening, every evening, walks by Perumal Mami (named after writer Perumal Murugan) after a regular visit to the Devi temple at Jayaraj Nagar; a close friend of Rama, she is always alone; 'eppadi irrukkel (how are you), she asks, her sure intro; offers prasad wrapped in banana leaves and tilak; we accept it; today is Friday, auspicious day, she says; on Saturday, you can spot the Lady with her banker husband at the Perumal temple on Saturdays; goes her way with a Parkkalam, made famous by Kamaraj Nadar. An evening breeze nudges peepal leaves. Copper pods drop down. The regular, light brown stray, Pagal, looked after by servers at the Aura Hotel, slaps down at our feet.
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