Ten random words

"Its the principle of it," she said, upset at the paltry effort.
"Where is the mango-blossom?" she yelled. They were still at home, not having left for the wedding hall. It was a sign of good luck to have it hung outside the door.
"No, not there," she cried, her temper rising, her energy dissipating. She saw her young niece and called her over, "You're free aren't you?" She asked her to fetch her lavender oil to soothe her nerves. She was feeling faint. Just then, the doorbell went. All she could see was a huge basket of multi-coloured roses. In an instant, her face was transformed and she was transported to dizzy heights of happiness when she read the card, "To the mother of the bride", from your son-in-law to be.

My inner dragon

Where I live now is near the very edge of Bristol.
A few hundred yards away, I imagine there is a dragon
Lying elegantly coiled in the castle overlooking the Avon gorge.
She comes into her own at night when she slithers out quietly
Onto the grand expanse of the Downs,
Now rid of the barbecues and summer lovers,
To look up at the moon suspended over Clifton Bridge,
She roars in hearty welcome.
Her tongue wagging happily, she laughs at the small velvety clouds
Playing hide and seek in the creamy darkness.
Below, the flaming torches light up the Portway
Where the odd truck passes by the hill-face desultorily-
Drivers struggling to keep awake,
Their massive vehicles wobble before jerkily steering straight
In the quarry beyond, a relentless drumbeat can be heard.
A rave going on or kids playing music
As they climb up to a precarious ridge to paint graffiti in impossible places.
She laughs in sheer joy at being here when everyone else is fast asleep.

Giggles in Xanadu

Into Xanadu came Kubla Khan,
So did Olivia Newton John,
Aparna’s nose quivered
As we settled down with the herd
"Another word for incense?"
Asked Ms De Souza.
Perfume, I said to please her
She shuddered and turned away
"Fragrance would’ve been so much better."

At 18, we were at Stella Maris College,
With all the decorum that we could manage
Any passion strictly suppressed, at the nuns’ behest.
A woman wailed for her demon lover
But we were deep in conversation
Not bothered about the maid or her dulcimer
Aparna's hair was cut like George Michael's
She'd channeled Wham and Careless Whisper
Or was it Imran Khan who made me swoon?
To cause all that consternation.

There in class, laughter bubbled
Mouths stretched wide with no elasticity.
Faces turned up to us in the top row,
We found we had become the show.
Sharing one quick giggle,
We finally came to grips
When we heard the shocking dictum
As if a guitar string had snapped mid-strum
“Put your fingers to your lips!!”

Big English

I was Big English for a while
When I spoke in full sentences
In full English
But my popularity was at stake
Using Big English was a mistake

Only sometimes ya, I’d say
Chumma, just like that
I’m not that bad, man
Don’torry, Don’torry
Me? Big English?
Ayyo Kadavule only

Whom was I reassuring?
Cajoling, in that cloying way?
Finding excuses, feeling self-conscious
As if to say, yes I could speak English
But rather not have it on display.

Rambling

I look around from my warm pool to check who's left behind. It’s too hot today to walk quickly on this beach.
No invasion yet of tourists today- I could teach them a thing or two to take things slowly. Without rushing, to be more accepting, not so demanding. What are they looking for when they come here- let loose from the city into this tranquil place? They come to paddle in these still waters dressed in holiday attire, shrieking at what must be a rare taste of freedom. They stomp around grabbing all the beautiful shells they can find and pack them in their handbags. "Don't touch them", I want to say, "they are mine."
The fisherman and I have become good friends. Look at him- all lean muscle, I can even see the ribs on his chest from this far. His skin dark brown, is glinting in the white heat, contrasting against the sand. He’s got a pole across his shoulders- his net is hanging on one end and his lunch box and thick coir rope on the other.
I slip back into the emerald green water that’s very still at the sea’s edge. This isn’t one of those usual beaches with waves rushing back and forth performing for the visitors. This is a sea that works at my pace, a leisurely pace- with coiled shells and algae visible from the water’s end. A secret sea, this is. I’ve got many rings on my shell to prove it.
The fisherman is tiptoeing across the sand- its very hot today. I go up to him and look directly into his eyes. He smiles, relieved, and I straighten up and can feel myself grow taller and taller. My shell becomes broader and broader. I kneel down and he jumps on and I amble across the soft sand, shuffling slowly till we reach his hut at the corner of the beach.