conversations; fading and fragile (1)

i waited five more minutes.
who wants to spoil a day by pouring hot water into a plastic bottle?
so, i waited.

in a hurry, i forgot to place the water bowl for my cat.
i took a bus to the city.
once i sat down comfortably, i asked the lady sitting next to me
“does this bus go to Statue?”
she answered loudly- “No”
impatient and careful.
i acted confused.
the heist was intentional.
i prayed, blamed, and
searched for a familiar face in the crowd
just to pretend that i'm not alone.
i waited for an imaginary friend,

in the corner of that old bus stand

counting the thoughts marching through my forehead.

the bus journey is an hour-long laboratory
of undocumented scripts:
it’s a treasure one regret later with content.
the saddest moment escaped from memory loss.
 
i wanted to visit an archive that day.
i wore a bright yellow kurta with a wide neck
so that the colourless loneliness
can be delayed.
i carried a fear,
uncertainties of the search scared me.
hours-long wait for the right document.
the anticipation of an idle return
without any trace of the beautiful woman, i searched for.
a shivering thrill for gossip
waiting to be told: unstained history in fragments.
i imagined myself getting dehydrated.
dullness of the legal language.
smoothness of the dust,
fading lead of my chewed-up pencil.
the stillness i may encounter
inside that silent building.

 

i called a friend and hurriedly double-checked my documents.
this is the fourth round of checking.
strangely, i wish someone would notice me.
the conductor was counting the collection,
scribbling the trip details in a lined paper.
the columns seemed tired and small.
the paper, folded with ease,
quickly went to his pocket, beautifully
-like an aerial rope act;
or like a rewound shot of a crime film.
i smiled.

the library opened only after 2 pm.
(by that time i completed the paperwork for the visit.)

i stared at the buildings.
they rested like the red gothic victorian dresses,
 hanging in a crowded place.
inappropriate but mysterious.
the old bookstalls near the huge banyan tree
were a multi-coloured octopus.
walking along that lane of bookstalls
made me feel important,
"chechi/madam, which book are you searching for?"
"come, we have a reduction sale"
"the book you are looking for is right here, come"
"check out our new collection, you don't need to pay for that"
i loved the urgency in their voice.
it gives a rare urge to live more.
the commonplace diversions to joy.

    the wall paintings, like a scream, pierced my gaze.
i saw my own reflections in the glass walls
of shops and adjusted my hair.
i bought a grey scarf, embroidered with pink flowers,
and some cheap nail polishes (violent, carmine red, beige brown)
i also bought a steel sieve, which amma asked me to buy,
from a roadside vendor.
the evening was brooding.
i checked my cat’s photos on my phone.
she looked brave, sleeping behind
that transparent curtain.
on my way back i remembered
the day i lost my wallet.
it had a tiny elephant shape,
 glued to the right end.
 
after finishing my origami rabbits,
i crawled on the cement floor.