Happy Beginnings

 

The whisper soft rays of the evening sun gently drench my living room

Like a meeting of two lovers grown distant through the tortures of the bright cruel day

The soothing sound of the playful raindrops hitting the rooftop

Lulls me into a carefree trance that my poor heart had long coveted

 

My nostrils gladly welcome the heavenly scent of fried pakoras cooking

The sweet humming sound of my ma singing out of tune, an old bollywood song,

which curiously reminds me of a time I unfortunately never witnessed

Papa sits on the balcony with the evening newspaper in hand

Sipping hot chai, with sugar this time (diabetes can go to hell, he says),

that my ma made after much pleading and grumbling on his part

 

The repetitive thud of my brother mindlessly throwing homemade pencil darts

On an old art project of mine, unfortunately made of thermocol,

Hoping one of them would stick, in a very successful attempt to annoy me

Even the screeching sounds of auto rickshaws and buses outside

Provides an almost bollywood style background score to this much relished normality

 

This, right here, with my papa loudly announcing the Cricket scores much to my amusement

With my ma singing horribly off key and dancing little circles on the kitchen floor

And my stupid brother, now grown tired of his game, desperately trying to steal my samosas

Is my sunshine and fairies, my happy ending; this here is my nirvana

No heroes to save the day, no sir, just some memories made on the sip of a hot masala chai

Beware of a writer

 

Beware of a writer

I will steal your stories

your quirks

Your personality

I will find what makes you tick

I will dig deep and figure out your every flaw

I will build a cage of words

And let you peek out from behind the bars of my letters

Like a beautiful little bird

 

Beware of a writer

For I will steal from you

A part of you that will always belong to me