Life is but a dream

I melt
When a sunbeam on my face,
Like a stream of fairy dust,
Leaves me in a daze.

I melt
When a newborn smiles at angels
In his immaculate sleep,
After my crooning song.

When chubby little fingers grab my hand,
When my toes sink deep into cold, salty sand;
When the fragrance of age-old paperbacks,
Get me lost in my duvet covers,
I melt.

I melt
At the sight of heartache,
Even more so, at the sight of conflict.
I melt
With every loss of hope,
Even more so, at the loss of trust.
I melt.

I melt
At new horizons,
At the prospect of new beginnings;
Life.

I melt
When scintillating flavours,
Cover me in warm familiar layers,
And take me home.

I melt
At his striking laughter,
The stolen kisses,
And our deep demeanour.

I melt.
At the soulful blues,
Our rock and roll beats;
Those peace-loving fools.

I melt.

Love beans

*sniff

That scent…where was it coming from?
I could recognise it anywhere…that sweet, bitter aroma that hit every nerve on my body and made me tingle.
He was near…very near. What could I do? I looked around me to see if there was anywhere I could hide. Maybe I should just turn around quickly and walk away…
No.
I should continue walking calmly and just pretend that I hadn’t noticed. Yes…I should do that. I can do that. I had done it before…just moved on.

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It had been three long years since our last rendezvous. The affair…yes, I call it an affair…had kept me bound for five years. Those five years in which I had spent every waking minute trapped in his rapture. I was young, naïve, and eagerly ready for new discoveries. I thought I was in control, but oh how I overestimated myself. The moment my lips were touched on that cold winter night, I knew there was no looking back. The taste consumed me…my tongue was on fire…the ecstasy seeped down deep into my body and into my veins until I felt something like never before. What was this feeling? This sudden rush…my head felt light…and I felt alive.

After that night there was no looking back. I would crave for more…at all times of the day…In the corner of the classroom…or even sneaking out of my room in the middle of the night. I was suddenly happier, more energetic. People noticed a different side of me...told me I looked radiant, and everyone was happy for me. I was glad, but craved for more.

As time passed, our relationship got rocky. I became too dependant and couldn’t function normally on my own anymore. It had come to a point where the sparks were barely flaring…there was no more exhilaration…no more erotic intensity…just mundane routine; a routine that had consumed me and taken control over every one of my decisions and actions. Mornings were spent in an air of strenuous silence, no eye contact, no intimacy; just a chronic sketch. I didn’t know what had happened…what had changed? He seemed indifferent to everything…perhaps it was me…
I needed out. I needed to end it. And I did.

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I look up as I hear the clinking of a spoon. That familiar clinking as the sugar dissolves and blends into the flavour of his dark and alluring presence. I close my eyes and take a deep breath…I breathe in and savour that warm, creamy, zealous fragrance. It’s been such a long time…a tiny peck wouldn’t hurt… after all, I am much stronger than I used to be.
I spit out the two-hour old gum from my mouth and drink some water…if I was going to do it, I as going to do it right. I march up to the counter, look directly into the handsome barista’s eyes and say, “One caramel espresso macchiato please”.

It was time for chai to step aside for a bit, so that I could rekindle my first flame: Coffee.

Fashion Faux Pas/ For Pa

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When we were little, Juls and I used to fight over who gets to ‘swing’ in dad’s lungi.

Yup, you read that right.

Let me start again.

When daddy wears a lungi, and then sits on his sofa (yup he has his own sofa spot), it forms a little seat of cloth where little kids can park their ickle bottoms and ‘swing’. I became heavier quicker than the little one did, so she got most of the lungi swinging time. And Jon? Well we girls bullied him too much for him to get a chance of anything in the house at all.

Before I continue with my story I should explain what a lungi is to all those non-desi people out there…I have to a lot of international readers ok.

The lungi, can also be known as a sarong, dhoti, mundu etc. is a garment worn around the waist. In some places like Burma, Malaysia and Singapore it is worn by both men and women. But in India and Sri Lanka it is mostly sported by men, and is common in some parts of Punjab, West Bengal and Bihar. The mundu which is popular in the South of India is white in colour and has a gold border and is usually worn for formal events and ceremonies. But the lungi I am talking about is the typical, casual (cool) South Indian one, available in every single colour and print, usually in a checked or striped pattern.

Okay so yeah, I’m not here to give you a history lesson, you get the point.

A couple of months ago we were sitting and talking and realised that our parent’s generation were the last of the lungi race. In our family at least… which constitutes of the whole of Mangalore, so that’s saying a lot. Not a single one of my fifteen male first-cousins can even imagine wearing a lungi, unless it is for a dance/play thing which they get roped into during a family wedding. They’re more than comfortable in their boxers.

I can’t imagine dad and all the uncles going to bed without changing into a lungi first. Heck, they kick off the darn trousers and belts as soon as the sun sets, just so they can be comfortable enough to relax the rest of the evening drinking and smoking in lungis. It’s such a homely sight

=)

But yeah, I’m not holding it against these boys. It’s not like I’m going to wake up every morning and oil my hair and put fresh jasmines in it. It’s just sad that our children won’t know what a lungi swing is. Actually I don’t think kids nowadays know what a normal swing is, unless it comes in a digital format on one of those computer/ps3 games or whatever those things are.

I think I’ll end with some ‘interesting’ lungi stuff I found on the internet:

-www.lungi.co.uk

(yup there’s a site)

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The Song Of The Lungi

When in white, you are my formal wear.

When in design, you are a festival!

What good are those trousers?!

If I wrap you around my head,

you become a turban.

You are a blanket if I am cold.

And a sail when the wind is good.

After I play in the sea,

you become my towel.

A flag when I wave

A trap to catch the mango!

Ready for Cricket when I fold you in half,

Ready for hanging when I twist you as a rope

ready as bed when I'm struck at fairs

You become a shawl when I need modesty

and a carrying bag during a loot.

The trousers are no good!

(Inspired by the "Trousers are no Good!" folksong, which in turn is inspired by the classic "Neenarigadeyo Ele Manava" (the humans are no good).

https://www.kamat.com/kalranga/attire/lungi.htm)

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Interesting Facts about Lungis

> Male students of Trivandrum engineering college never have pajama parties; they only have lungi parties

> Tiruppur in Tamil Nadu is the Paris of lungi fashion

> Seventy percent of the India's lungi trade takes place at Coimbatore and Erode railway stations when trains are halted there

> Foldability of the lungi is very handy for fighting villains on the street, as Mohanlal and

Mammooty and other actors have demonstrated on the silver screen

> In addition to providing comfort, the lungi also acts as a ventilation factor in summer.

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(www.tradeindia.com/about_products/796/Lungis.html)

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And last but not least, the world’s best lungi dancer-

-->https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LrCXnrsa0TQ

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The lungi is going to die soon, but I hope it makes a kickass comeback someday.