More human

More than the lingering smell of a man
on my hands,
the waft of burning wood, with leaves, twigs and mud.
rarely a grasshopper or some cockroaches that I'd put in, for amusement.
The fucking cockroaches would survive.


More than the forced, cajoling sweet nothings,
The candid, vulgar Chinese whispers about newly discovered breast buds.
...
Knowing everyone,
Behind welcoming grins and small talks;
The adults.
Knowing; way more than adults ever could,
about each other.
about us.
With an almost zero error accuracy.
Mr.X was in fact a shady drunkard who touched little girls' unmentionables.
Baby Y turned out to be a zilch and is now running her mother's salon.
My friend Z is a manipulative asshole working with McKinsey
See I said so!

...
Getting things without earning.
With love and unconditional care,
of ma, naani or the maid.
Sweet smell of biscuits and cakes.
The love made that simple glass of milk even more enjoyable,
than it was to be ever again...
after clueless cycle rides around the colony(and slyly even the forbidden main road)

But
Something else made things even more enjoyable;
more than Love
More savoured than ever.


currency, erasers, tazo, jujubes and rubber bands.
All stolen.
The triumphant feeling of successfully stealing;
the adrenaline,
that perfect mix of a dog's reflexes and a cat's evil motive.
the trance of purchasing chips.
the trance of violently trying to erase pen,
Instead making a hole in the paper.

The ecstasy followed by the free falling feeling of getting caught.
Of full stop
Of beaten knuckles and wings chopped off.
Of being tagged and written off!
Me;
the li'l thief of the flock.
made fun of...for what seemed to be forever then.
Shame, tears and most authentic apology for a month
and here we go again.

....
Her hands
her raspberry lips
her dream like smelling wet hair...
her lakme moisturizer and foundation
Her stern look that she reserved for my interesting mistakes;
the look-a hybrid of anger, disappointment and hopelessness.
The grief it brought me!
When I figured that it was the look that made me so fuckin' unhappy
I'd just not look at Ma.
would shut my eyes tight
Also, so that some forced tears trickled down.
But never stopped making mistakes.
...
A time of pusful, scarring poxes
Of lice, their eggs and frenzied cousins
who would, at no cost sleep with you!
for you were the vector of trouble.
Boycott.
life couldn't get worse, or so I then thought.
Time of weird flues; Nose, eye and throat.
Of dentist's visits; drooly, drilly, gory and full of needles.
Of tattered knees,
That sinful urge to pull out the damn clot,
halfway discovering fresh blood underneath
Pain and regret.
The moment seemed like end of the world
but better still than bloody periods.

Bosoms augmented, voices cracked
and suddenly there was just one word for some years to follow.
Hair.



we were more human then;
No moment dull.
No stomach empty.
No heart cold.