Friday, December 19, 2014

purposeless

These days when I travel alone, I seem to return with an injury to remember the place by. My hand still hurts, more than ten days after I fell and it tells me when it's cold. Like the coconut oil in the kitchen.

It's cold. 

Not cold like Delhi but cold for a house that thinks only of how to keep the summer out.

I'm glad of it, of the many cups of tea I can have, of the oranges, of days when it's okay to wander aimlessly around Shilparamam, following in the wake of kicked up dust that's somehow quite, quite different from the dust at Numaish. That place trails whiffs of cotton candy and chaat, that dust needs to be quietened with water.

I am watching the colours change. I am trying not to think. I am trying not allow my mind go to places it wants to visit. 

I dream of things I haven't for a long, long time. It no longer scares me, this dream. It's familiar. I am uninvolved. I want to be awake when I feel like that.

4 comments:

batulm said...

Hope the ache in your hand thaws soon.

Space Bar said...

Batul: I keep Forgetting to not use it, so...unlikely. But trying!

david jairaj said...

love that description of the numaish :)

you can wander around aimlessly at shilparamam, but at the numaish, you will get lost in the trails. yeah!

Space Bar said...

David: Thanks for all your recent comments. You'll notice I haven't published some. I'd appreciate it if you'd avoid making guesses about my personal life in this public space. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't make any guesses at all about my personal life - it's slightly stalkery. You may not realise that what you're doing is unwelcome so I thought I'd let you know.