Monday, May 4, 2009

Waiting for the water cycle to do it's thing!


Life is rather like a tin of sardines - we're all of us looking for the key.

Alan Bennet



For a while now, I've been stuck in a limbo. Or in John Updike's words- the ugly middle position.It's not comfortable, this period of change. I remember Nigella Lawson's words as she rustled up a beef stew (it was a segment on comfort food), when she said there's comfort in the familiar.

Given my state of unrest, it would take a swimming pool full of beef stew to calm me down.

An unfamiliar tranquilizer though, might be more effective.

The sky too seems to be facing a conundrum. The ‘to be or not to be’ or ‘what to be’ variety. It seems to have settled for a very interesting shade of grey, shot with blue and tempered with black. Colleen McCullough described the color of Meggie’s gown as ashes of roses. On that note, I’d call this color charcoal blue. I’ve always been fascinated by how grey sets off other colors. It tends to accentuate the vibrancy or visual potency of any other color. This may have a scientific reason, of which I am thoroughly unaware, so to me, this phenomenon is intriguing. It seems as though, by downplaying itself, the color lends life to its brethren.

Opening the window seemed like a bad idea a few minutes ago, because of the dust storm that was threatening. But turns out it was all bark no bite. Rain’s missing her cue, still dithering about in the wings. But the smell of wet mud is beautiful. Pity my nose isn’t a little longer, and then it would’ve helped when I stuck it out of the window to catch the faint smell. The smell isn’t exotic, but it’s refreshing and carries a promise which is heady and puts a beatific grin on my face.

The last few storms gave our neighbors reason to consign their wind chimes to some corner in a box. But a bamboo chime still seems to be braving the rough gales. The sound of a wind chime is beautiful, but that of a bamboo chime, is gorgeous. The slightly hollow notes have a haunted feel about them. Contained, yet rousing.

The Beatles are going on and on about Lucy in the sky with diamonds. The refraction is definitely lighting the sky up just about now, in a lightening and thunder routine. But I’ve seen the kind that forks and twists and rips the sky into two in a burst of brilliance, so this fails to inspire, and fortunately or unfortunately I can’t go into raptures about it.

The sound of multitudes of leaves slapping into each other is uncannily similar to the sound of rainfall. It seems to be taunting all those in wait. Or maybe, it’s just a very complex case of transference.

The lights just went out. Pity it won’t last for ore than a minute. These brief cuts are the only time when we get plunged into the dark. Otherwise, even in the middle of the night, the room’s aglow with lights from street lamps. It’s striking. The blindness of these few precious minutes.


Patience is not one of my many virtues (I do really have many virtues!). I can conjure it from time to time, but now is not one of those moments when I feel like exerting myself. All this waiting has made me turn to Harry Potter. Fantasy does have its many uses.


To substitute for a real deluge, I’ll probably curl up and re-read the parts where Peeves pelts the students with water balloons in the Great Hall and where the younger Creevey brother falls into the lake and is (apparently) pushed back into the boat by the Giant squid. Or the Quidditch match with the ‘rouge’ bludger, or the one with the dementors. It may be a comedown, but I’ve always set great store by the written word.


I dare not leave the window open when I’m not in combat position to deal with any stray bugs seeking shelter from the rough weather. I’m a coward I’ll admit it. Not phobic. But just short of it.

But there is hope for tomorrow, that I’ll wake up to a myriad of blues and greens.