Kabhi aisa bhi ho....

While writing this poem I was wondering about my intention of writing about a day not happening …a day spent doing nothing…and then while talking to someone I realized that how its so normal for me to think about it since I like sleeping so much in morning through afternoon. But then often that happens because I can’t sleep till wee hours of the morning.

I wrote this poem for and about seeing Dulcinea sleeping. Seeing her so many times.....and how I gave up many morning sleeps just to watch ( ....and it used to be an effort for someone like me who has such an aversion to the morning sun) the serene closed eyes and the warm rosy skin shimmering like jelly in the morning sunlight... sometimes I felt I could see the layers of epidermis. It was more delighting to see her on the seventh floor of my earlier home than on the second floor of recent one.

There on the seventh floor my bed (though on the floor) directly faced the door of the balcony on the northeast side with nothing but often bright blue sky framed in foreground with my 3 year old Erica palm...and yes even Erica’s leaves used to be so transparent when I used to see her in morning sky. And so many times it happened that my eyes alternated between the green chlorophyll in the Erica and the pink of the skin.

Those sleepy languorous times In fact were result of two more elements that heightened my joy of being in that room which had nothing but a much happily wrinkled mattress on the rough checkered stone dappled tiles, some cartons in the corner containing my books, and a fish tank which was addition of one of her childish whims that had initially many gutter guppies caught from the pond in her college campus and later 3 goldfishes. And those two elements were the Bacardi Rum without lime cordite and two songs Wonderwall & Don’t Look Back in Anger from Oasis’s album “What's The Story Morning Glory?”
It was difficult for me to understand what was more effective in making those days pleasurable, the two organic beings or those two songs or the single bottle of rum? But the mixture of all those three things was heady. Suspicious and weary of the world outside entire days were spent in that room. In that room where morning crept slowly and afternoon almost never passed, it lingered like a stark white and long wall. Evenings too suffered from hangover before slipping out quietly like a dead fish or an enervated uncovered head.

And I felt I can’t express this in English so I wrote in Hindi. Because sometimes some thoughts are so happy that the more you struggle to describe them the more you enjoy it at your inability to describe them. And that’s why I thought I will express them in Hindi, the same Hindi that gave me so much the same Hindi that made me a poet artist and a lover of everything…but of love more than anything.


I would love to translate this if I get a request :-)