today I pick up my diary and leaf
dog eared pages to go through
memories I had long since buried.
My fingers type unaccustomedly in blank verse
on the keyboard, as I attempt a poem,
Again.
After a long, I mean really long time.
Not about tear jerkers, not about the love
that cheated and died, not about
being human, or being a doctor,
but a list of the things, I want.
I want for my birthday.
At twentynine, I wake up from a long,
unbroken dreamy sleep that wakes me up
with the corners of my mouth stretched,
the kind of smile, I used to get on my face,
when I dug up cashews hidden by my mother.
I want a long bike-ride, behind some person I
can hold close to me, someone who
would understand that meaning of
' driving to the point of no return'
doesnt necessarily mean we would die
at the end of the ride.
I would like to as well, watch a movie that
would wrench the last tear drops of my eyes,
and not have someone looking at me and thinking
'What an emotional fool she is !!! ', while sympathising
with me.
I would, like to go looking for tigers
with my brother, in the forests of Rudraprayag and
Kumaon, where I wandered as a child
in the fantasies of the Jim Corbett books my
brother gave me to read when I was eleven...
I would, like to cook up a meal,
an American chopsuey or a veg-au-gratin
with the cheese perfectly cooked, and red wine
and sit with my friend ( a girl this time)
discussing MBBS headaches and films.
I would, I wish, spend
one quality day with my family, one whole
day that goes just right, set in the nineties..
when I was just the age that was right.
Or spend a present day in the present time
wearing my FCUK t-shirt that says
FCUK 1972
( The year my parents got married !!! )
And well, they cannot 'see' the difference.
I want to turn back the hands of time,
to walk with someone with feet filled with blisters
someone who I would know, would last even till
a bitter truth than a convenient lie.
Someone for whom my respect shall
start, continue and grow, until
the deepest honor and lust of
a beautiful feeling.
Love.
And also to go, with someone, get drunk,
on the dancefloor, and release,
every memory in my mind in one drunken
fever,with someone close to me
I can trust even when I absolutely let go...
fully knowing that
when I wont be able to stand up on my legs anymore,
someone will carry me home...
back to the incredulous safety of our confines.
Or to go on with a black t-shirt with dinosaurs
painted in front, to my English teacher,
who would unabashedly stare at my boobs, but
would actually be reading aloud
"Triceratops"
And I would love it he got the name right.
I wish I could go on a ride
on my bike, when the monsoon would lash in
Cuttack, and would race the train till my house
grinning that I beat it..
and would dance the night away with
Channel V hits and my cousin sister.
Also watch all horror movies with my hands crossed,
and when electricity fails, run to the loo,
hands between my legs,
failing miserably before I reach the door.
At twenty nine, I know,
none of this will happen.
I will possibly have a long day to lie on the bed,
dream about all the contorted truths of the poem that
has actually happened..
and then get back to life
which is good neverthless
And read up a book on Neuro.
