Travel makes you realise so much in life.
I, for instance, realised that being thin is equal to being invisible.
No, really. Here’s a sample of what I get to hear every day.
“You and my 3 year old son, both of you will fit in there. Easily. Don’t you worry.”
“Oh! But you’re so thin, why don’t you shift aside a bit more?”
“Can we swap places? You don’t need much space anyway.”
Excuse me? I pay for my ticket in full. I am entitled to what everyone else who has paid for the ticket is. I can adjust if I’m required to. But that’s about it.
Thank God though, people atleast remember to acknowledge the fact that I exist.
8 year old Tara found them drenched to the skin in the rain,
Crouched silently on the wet soil, fragile and meek, their eyes reflecting hunger and pain –
But, little did she know, as she carried them home, that she would never again have to be alone,
Little did she know, she finally had found the family she could call her own,
Little did she know they would soon become an irrevocable piece of her heart,
Little did she know that her furry four-legged friends would stick to her, until death did them apart!
There are potholes splayed open, there’s dung of animals splattered across, there’s garbage spewed in abundance, in every micron of space you find,
There are barricades drawn on every side, troughs ploughed out for projects that have been left far behind,
There are sidewalks (detours now, to motorists in traffic) that don’t have space anymore for pedestrians to walk,
There are share-autos drivers who find every traffic signal imperative to balk,
Phew! You really don’t have a choice, do you, but to watch your step as you go,
Because, with the Indian roads, clearly, you just never know!
In pursuit of what we desire,
In the chase to quench that undying fire,
We aspire, conspire, face consequences dire,
Willy-nilly, we remain until we tire, until what we want we acquire.
They don’t demand, they don’t complain,
You find yourself turning to them for solace, for answers, when you’re in pain,
Good, bad or ugly, they stay with you for everything you are,
They help you heal your every wound, your every scar,
Bitch about, bicker with or betray, they’d never let you go, you’ll always find them by your side,
Books – they truly are your best friends; with them, there are no conditions applied!
Remains behind the scene,
A tad too hesitant to be seen,
She works her way into everyone’s heart,
For her magic lies in her skills, in her art!
To her, freedom didn’t mean the right to raise her voice,
It didn’t mean the privilege to wear her choice,
It didn’t mean traveling around the world – living in, its every corner and nook,
All it only ever meant, was snuggling in, to her book –
For, it gave her what the rest of the world couldn’t – it brought her alive, it set her imagination on fire,
It gave her heart all the contentment it would ever desire,
By the window sill she sits, undisturbed, unscathed,
From the rest of the world, willingly detached,
Breathing in its scent, its story,
Relishing every plot it cooks, to glory.