Through the windshield!

I’ve realized that I’ve spent a lot of my time in life commuting. While in Mumbai it was the bone-crushing but a fantastically efficient system called the ‘local’ – a railway system non pareil for myriad reasons. Will not enumerate. The ‘BEST’ bus network was another mode of transport which offered me its shoulder for most part of my life.

Now in this city, I’ve spent a lot of time driving. Acquired a set of wheels here and learnt the finer nuances of clutching and braking and steering life on course (or away from it) here. Have spent a lot of time observing life through the windshield and writing in my head.

Like…
She lies there. Her midnight black skin, stretched out straight and narrow, pock marked, weathered, with her laughter lines and crow’s feet, a face of character.
She lies there, mute, not a pip-pip from her. Watching the rock and roll of life. Macadamia.

She swirls her skirt. Speckled with sunshine. Patterned with leaves during autumn. Suddenly dancing like a dervish. Full of joie de vivre. And then cowering near the kerb. Rock and roll of life thundering past is way too much for her fragile nerves. Dust.

Quilted, glorious and comforting. Like silent sentinels. Like the knights of King Arthur or the 3 musketeers, ‘all for one and one for all’. Silently watching humanity’s evolution (on wheels) and probably raising their arms heavenwards in silent prayer. Sheltering the same humanity arms akimbo. Sometimes lying asunder grievously injuring the same humanity. Mood swings galore. Canopy of greens.

Children tapping on the tinted glasses - the 'roll-it-up' facade - quick before anyone sees, hurry, the world's knocking. Entreating you to buy their wares – cleaning cloth, roses, toys, books, hands free sets, sun shades – sometimes just asking for alms. Leaving you groping for answers. Palpable misery. The signal turns green. Time to move on.

Hopping in happiness. Holding hands. Smiling. Dressed uniformly. Oblivious of the chaos. Focused on reaching a goal. Tiny tots going to school.

The old. The not so old. The young ‘uns who want to make an impression. Regulators (beleaguered traffic cops) desperately trying to make way – method in the madness? Other vehicles. Carrying dreams. Hopes. Goals. Life.

Meandering along the lanes and bylanes of life, whatever wrong turns you might take, how many ever ‘no parking’ tickets you might collect, we’re all headed in one direction. The ultimate truth awaits. End of the road.

PS – For those who don’t know, the previous post had lyrics of the song ‘Faithfully’ by the group Journey. That was not poetry by yours truly as some erroneously believed. Ain’t that gifted folks! (Of course you might have noticed that am under the erroneous assumption that I am 'gifted' - didn't I ever say somewhere that I'm a pompous old bitch?)

Ocean’s 12 sucks. Brad Pitt, George Clooney and Matt Damon rule. Drool.

Someone totally unexpected leaves a comment on my blog. It has me frothing. Should take a break from blogging. Alternatively, just get rid of my blog. Keep it someplace else. All this only because I don't want flak, am afraid of adverse criticism and am afraid of knowing the painful truth. I need to have my head examined.

Want to so believe James Blunt when he sings, 'You're beautiful' - just ruefully shake my head and go 'comfortably numb' and roam the 'streets (that) have no name' and however much I try 'elevation' I know I still 'haven't found what I'm looking for'. Guess 'everybody hurts'.