Word potrait #9 The balloon-seller.

The city roads are turning suffocating-ly busy and chaotic. Sometimes I imagine them like ambitious river beds trying to contain the sea (of vehicles) . The smoke rises alike from the exhausts of the tin automobiles to the most sophisticated cars and thickens the air, bluring the vision .

It’s like all colors around have turned some shade of grey . The mundane of life mingling with endless smoky commutes and long pauses called ‘traffic-jams’.

Amidst this, morose unavoidable byproduct of a technologically advanced life, he walks-in barefoot on the burning ashphalt (or maybe he had some cheap rubber-barely visible-flipflops on).

He is in no hurry and holds a long bamboo pole with a ‘host’ of the most brightly colored balloons tied to the top of it .Perhaps I felt as delighted as William Wordsworth ‘when all at once he saw a crowd a host of golden daffodils… besides the lake , beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze ‘ .

The grey scene suddenly transformed and I stare at him while the traffic snails . I have all the time to look at those magically bright balloons ‘cos comically when everyone wants a fast life they end up slowing down on the road.

I watched unblinking, as if my eyes were feeding on those colors and marveling the beauty of the unspoiled air trapped in those rubber shells ( protected from the toxic air I was breathing in). As if this man had saved some air from getting poisoned and was carrying it treasured in these humble balloons.

It was strange but reassuring . A poor balloon-seller had infused life in a crazy-lifestyle and I couldn’t help but be feel thankful that he did.


Word Potrait #6 The Girl on the rope

It was a summer day . The usual bus ride seemed longer. A torture. When I finally entered the car my head was still spinning over the unfair weather condition . Thoughts raced from global warming to my failings … but yea I wanted to pin it all on the weather.The feeling of discomfort and resentment shone on my sweaty face.
I meticulously engaged in weaving a web of these musings as the sweat slowly dying as the car’s air conditioning took over .

I was still nestling and wrestling these thoughts when I spotted her . On a tight rope . In the summer heat. Her knees bend over and resting on a copper plate balanced on the rope strung between two bamboo poles. Her ankles shining in the heat. Her toes gripping the rope. She held a bamboo stick to embrace her centre of gravity as her head balanced a couple of metal pots stacked one over other.

She slowly rhythmically pushed the plate( her knees were bent on) ahead over the rope. There was music I guess but I was deaf to it. I couldn’t think anymore. She had no expression on her face. I felt she had no face.Just the brown baked skin melting in the merciless heat .

She made me feel insanely rich at the same time robbed me of the luxury to complain ….. and pin everything on the weather.

Word Potrait # 4.. Lady in the morning.

It was early morning . I was sipping morning green tea. My eyes exploring the greenery around and ears soaking in the quiet of the morning.

My wandering eyes settled on a person standing on the large window in a multi-storey appartment building. She stood shifting all her weight on one leg and the other bent on the knee resting on the window sill . Her hands hanging out from the window as she observed the morning. The soft green and pink stripes on her night dress stood in stark contrast with her body language. There was no softness about her. She had the looks of a hard task master . Of someone who would test a situation well and not accept defeat without a good fight. She wasn’t bothered by the lack of a feminine curves and was so well at ease with her rotund form . All she exuded was an air of confidence and awe.

Some might shrug and dismiss her as a middle age overweight lady . Somehow I failed to do that. Perhaps it was her stance and ease with which she exposed herself to be observed, while she tasted the early morning breeze , that made me think differently.