Loony Tunes

She said “goodnight!” hopping on steps that led to the afternoon coloured skies. Her mother tugged at her red hood “Beta, at night it is goodnight.” Her sister reaches up my iron door Slides the hasp. Almost locks me inside the house. For a minute I keep pushing the house. The house is making me understand a language, I think. The girl walks in oversized slippers He mother laughs when she sees missing chappals. When someone rings a bell here, her footsteps are the first we anticipate. When her father says, “Go run and get Daddy’s jacket!” She scurries and tells her mother, “Daddy wants chocolate!!” On Sundays, she and her sister sit cross legged on Activa. And the sound of car alarms going off at their touch are common enough. In between, they charmingly match sirens with ‘Chal Gaadi!!!’. For all the varied kinds of distance, I want to be this close to my home. And since doors do open — That one yawned too. As they forgot to fit the hasp on loop and go.

While returning from college I was waiting at the Bus Stop. A middle-aged man, carrying a white plastic bag, shaped in the form of a boulder (also weighing like one) arrived on the bus stop. His shoulders sank and the more he walked with that weight the more he seemed to get smaller. His legs were ready to give way any moment. He wanted to reach New Delhi. A vendor selling moong phali, popcorn, mathri , salty chips told him the many bus numbers that would take him. But when the bus came, the man did not move.  The vendor was busy. The pavement, the road, the streets nearby, the city itself was churning. Everyone was going to get somewhere. In those moments I got a feeling of being tossed instead of being suffocated. I wanted to know why I wasn’t able to smell any of those food items on the cart. The pollution, the smoke of petrol. All this should have made me dizzy but that is not what happened. I could have also taken a picture and sent it to Wes Anderson fan accounts - that was

One pigeon, two pigeons, three pigeons… Suddenly, It is a swarm of pigeons. The sky tilts a little towards     what has always been here. With terraces, I stand in agreement of everything they see. They have lived at the edge for as long as they can be & not absorb heat. There is noise in this blue of sky shrilling every corner of heat telling it to go outside and play! Look at everything — A flock of confusion takes flight, circles the air, & assembles at the same terrace again. The sky is still sky when the sun sets and nothing comes to an end. On other note, we never see the sun setting Only the colours changing Yellow glides dim amber Pink ruffles orange, But I never see the sun descend. It bulges, It grows, It glows To wait.