In the bright rude lights of my headlamps, i catch unsuspecting moments. I feel like an intruder. An outsider with a very bright torch. Pointing it where and when i please. Impolite. And inquisitive.

I see a man bathing, a boy studying, a woman cooking. I try to imagine that the lights are welcome. Like a beacon. Helping the man see how much water he has left in his bucket, helping the boy to read that important sentence clearly, and the woman see the colour of the daal she's cooking. Sometimes, i'm helping an old lady find her glasses. Sometimes i help a man cheat at cards. Sometimes an old gent on a charpoy doesn't have to strain his eyes to read the paper. Sometimes i catch a laugh. Sometimes a tear. Sometimes the kids find the ball. And the girls find the boys looking. And the boys see the girls eyes. Sometimes the mother sees the boy and girl together. Somebody finds their chappals. Somebody else finds they've lost theirs. Sometimes a little girl gets to see the colour of her shit. And a boy gets to jump out of the way of a giant rat.

From the safety of my car, i wonder if i helped.

my phone fell into the pot.

there's no other way to tell it than that. plain and simple. it jumped right out of my hand and plopped right into the pot. that too the office pot. not my harpic-clean, gleaming-white, 100% germ-free, cleaned by OCD-me, home pot. but the slightly yellowing, bacteria-infested, cleaned by unclean men, office pot.

as it lay there drowing at the bottom of the pot, its lights flickered hopelessly.
help. it shouted. HELP.
all i could see were bubbles that rose sadly to the surface.

should i put my hand in there? should i use the potty brush to bring it out? or should i just let it go? flush it down?

as i looked down at it, trying to make up my mind, it looked back up at me, its screen pleading, its lights fading slowly...i didn't have the heart to let it die. it had all those numbers of people i loved and hated. it had all those lovely messages i had saved. it had my movie list. it even had my pan number. i realised i needed it more than ever. i couldn't let it go. not so soon. not this way.

i took a deep breath, i held the potty brush and skillfully manuvered it out. with the other hand, i grabbed some tissues and held it firmly. victory!
not a drop of potty water touched me.

when i went home i gave it a savlon bath and then took one myself. actually i took two. and just thinking about it makes me want to take a third.

One of my favourite books as a kid was Ferdinand The Bull. Written by a Spanish author who gifted it to my Grandma, the faded red cover with Ferdinand The Bull drawn on it, now lies on a bookshelf in my parents home.

Ferdinand The Bull was a young but beefy bull. When all the other young bulls were charging around grunting and hoping to be choosen for bullfights, Ferdinand liked to sit under the trees and smell the flowers. He liked to chase the butterflies as they danced among the petals. He was like a 60's flower-child bull. Like the Mahatma Gandhi of bulls. The other bulls used to laugh at him. Gentle, sissy Ferdinand.

I loved to see the drawings of the show-off bulls. Kicking up dust with puffs of smoke emitting from their angry nostrils. In the background, on the hill, Ferdiand my friend was sitting under the trees, sniffing a rose.

When the men came, they weren't impressed with the bravado of the other bulls. They were impressed with Ferdinand. Shit, this bull was big. He was intense and composed. He wasn't running around like the other foolish bulls. So they took him to the arena.

When he entered, people ooooed. The matador trembled. And then as Ferdiand moved, a hush fell over the crowd.

Ferdinand lumbered slowly and menacingly to the far side of the arena, where he found a lady with a hat full of flowers.


This October i'm going to Spain.

I shall look for Ferdinand my childhood friend.
Hopefully, i won't have to look in the arena.

in the garden in the winter sun. a bloody mary.
maybe two.
some good kashmiri food. divinely flavoured and not too spicy.
get every bit of the vassi out of the bone.
eat some yummy homemade pudding.
sponge cake with custard.
a homemade paan.
sneak a smoke on the terrace with the cousin.
find a sofa or a diwan near the window, where the sun streams in.
curl up warm and fade into a comfortable nap.
wake up cold. the sun has moved. take the shawl lying on the chair.
fade back into sleep.
wake up to laughter. and tea.
and samosas and hot jalebis.

don't eat dinner.