My Life, A Cocktail

It was a bare tree. It stood on its own, in the middle of nowhere, with no sense of dignity or majesty. Birds never cared to sit on the endlessly split naked branches, and only someone totally insane would stop under it for shade. There were no fruits to lure, no flowers to perfume the air, no leaves to shed and crush underfoot. There were no nearby trees, no dwelling. No one ever cared to look at it, not even in sympathy. It was as though its existence didn’t matter. And yet it stood out, with no care in the world, come rain, storm or lightning, unperturbed, it had nothing more to lose. Yet, when you look at this tree, it is not that it has lived its life, and now waiting for some machine to run over it and mark its end. It still sways with whatever is left of it, when the silent wind blows; it still quenches its thirst when the first of the showers fall. We ignore it so completely, yet it breathes, only to let out life, that is known to sustain us.

We are what they call the slum dwellers. We live in a four by five home, with a thatched roof that leaks when it showers. My husband works in the sand repository; his main job being to load and unload sand into the huge trucks that carry them. Today is just another day. I am washing the vessels, after a filling meal, as I watch my husband load sand onto a private truck. They are going to take it out to the city to build tall, skyscraping apartments. My children are playing happily, their voices echoing, trying to catch one another, running and falling on the heaps of sand. I work as a garbage collector, in the near by apartment, and help people dispose their old stuff. People are strange out here. They buy things that they don’t require, keep them for sometime to show and marvel, and then one fine day decide to throw it all out. But I must admit, I have gotten many a things for my household, by digging into people’s trash. That’s where I found that beautiful mirror of mine; I look so p

For someone like me, for whom life’s just been one day after another, individuality makes no sense. Every day seems like a time table, everything chalked out beforehand by so-called experts, the experienced and the know-all. They are here with the sole purpose to guide and lead, like they had been. And I kept saying to myself, let time tick away, until of course, I was born again. When I opened my eyes, it was a new world that I perceived. The world of reality, the kind of reality I wanted to see, not driven by people, but me. I felt in control, it felt good. I developed what is called faith, in what is called the Lord, and derived faith in myself thus. Suddenly, there was this need to excel, in all that I did, perfectionism came to be my second nature. And I started to know happiness. But, like the phoenix, I died this life too, and emerged back from the ashes, to live again. This new life that I live today, is not going to last long I know. I don’t perceive anymore, I don’t see or he

I spot a striking beauty On the bus stop as she waited Like a doll, she was just as pretty Here was simplicity, unadulterated. Her hands clasped Her arms long and slender Her breasts slightly heaving Her lips soft and tender. Her hairs were black as the glasses she wore Her eyes concealed within Aloof she stood letting me devour My head went for a spin….. Just as the bus was sighted Far away in the distance She reached for her stick and groped And ended up hitting the fence. People helped her climb I realized she was blind I turned away, never looking behind Oh, the human mind!

Its once again that time of the day, when I come out of my home, and begin my daily journey to the office, where I plan to spend the rest of my day. I notice that it’s a beautiful morning, like all mornings are, the roads are wet with the light morning showers, the tress are glistening green, and the soil is leaving prints. I had been irritated a little the previous day, and was unknowingly carrying the feeling in me even today. The reason for my irritation was that someone was trying to snatch away from me, what was mine. I wasn’t ready to let go. I didn’t realize when I stopped admiring the outside, and was caught up brooding over my irritation. I questioned myself as to what was getting me irritated, and I realized it was my want to possess. Something that was mine….. that feeling of deriving my sense of self from materialistic objects…. And I couldn’t let that go…… Just then something caught my eye. I saw a group of birds flying together, forming patterns, free…. The first thought