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It’s one of those make-you-blue rains.

Out here, it never really rains.
It just drizzles and drizzles,
unlike back home,
Where it’s not rain unless
it pours by the bucket.

Rain, to me,
is Raga Megh.
No other Malhar I’ve heard
Can acheive that force,
that violence, that passion…
But Megh can also be gentle,
yet strong, with the imminence
of an overcast sky.
You run through the fields,
the wind in your face,
your dress, your soul.
It’s four in the afternoon,
but feels like half past six.
After a while,
the joy becomes too much for you,
and you lie on your back on the grass,
and wait for the first drop
on your face or hands.

It sometimes happens that you father is looking out of the window at the same time,
and trusts his daughter not to have the good sense to know that it’s going to rain,
and comes looking for you.
I’ve always heard him call before he’s seen me.

The first rain after summer,
would always come in the night.
The wind comes in through the windows,
bringing with it the faintest whiff,
of your favourite smell,
and you drop whatever it is that you are doing,
and run to your favourite ledge.

How do you go to sleep on those nights,
When storms rage, and lightning strikes,
in dashes of light, and brilliant clarity,
And you see everything, even those very things,
Which are better, (better?)
or simpler unseen?
When the thunder crashes somewhere far away,
how can you help but wait up for the rain?
It’s been promised to you, and you alone.
When the world is asleep, I will come to you.

“What could my mother
Be to yours?
What kin of my father
Is yours anyway?
And how
Did you and I ever meet?
But in love
our hearts have mingled
Like red earth and pouring rain.”
– Kuruntokai (An anthology of Tamil verse dating back to the 1st century AD)


Now that we are on the topic of nails,
The witch had long, brown, sharp, ugly nails.
She was ugly, wicked, cruel,
With a shrill, scary laugh.

It was a time,
When life meant,
Wake up,
fight with mother,
“I don’t want milk!”
Out in the garden,
A fairy visits you.
“I have lost my crown!”
I, gallant young lady,
find her her crown.
“Thank you, so much!
Do come to our party in fairy-land.”
And it’s afternoon.
And I’m there.
I’ve flown in,
With my new friend,
The fairy princess.
I eat delicious cakes,
And lots of chocolates.
It’s time to go,
Only when the party is over,
And they give everyone
Magic presents.
What did I get?

Mother comes out,
“Come in to lunch.”

I don’t venture out.
Beggars in black could be
The witch in disguise.

She was tall, dark, ugly.
She spirited you off
To a lonely island,
A castle on the cliff,
with bats flapping wings,
And screeching at the moon.

They’d try to get me
To sleep in the afternoons.
I couldn’t. Still can’t.
I’d read Enid Blyton.

Evening was cartoons,
After struggling with A,B,C
Not that I wanted
My A to look
As crooked as the witches hat.

I remember only Care Bears
That’s where the witch came in
And stomped on her sidekick.
And screeched and uttered a magic spell.
She made her body disappear,
Into a million tiny stars,
That flew, through the dark,
After the bears…

My witch never won.
I’d clap with delight,
As each scheme of her’s failed.
But she’d go to her castle
And plot the next one.
Raging through her cauldron,
At the lovely li’l bears,
Safe on their rainbows again.

I’d go to bed happy.
No plot of her’s could,
Harm my good little friends, the bears.

That was a long, long time ago.
I’d forgotten
Even the name of that show.
Toonopeadia tells me they are the Care Bears
And no mention of my witch anywhere.

My witch is too Good for a toon.
She, of the shrill voice and tall crooked hat.
She, greatest terror of her sidekick and bats.

Don’t know when I started looking up to her.
But I remember starting to envy her,
For her own island and cliff-edge castle,
Her life, with no one to tell her “Be quiet!”
Her body, which she could make vanish at will…

Even that was some time ago.
Now, I have my castle,
Don’t have to be quiet,
Can forget my body…

She just drops in now and then.
Just to say “Hi! I’m here”,
“Don’t slip.”, “Don’t cry.”

What a trivial topic to start your blog!
But who cares?
I’m in front of the comp.
(No point in sitting behind it,
unless you’re looking for the sound card.)
What do I write?
My nails are looking better,
I painted them two days ago.
They look clean and shapely.
That’s about it.

Looks like someone else typing.
A girl with long pink nails.
Pretty and all that.
The works.
Prettiness tires me.
(Weary sigh!)
So does this blog!

September 2004
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