Skip to main content

A daily blog

I always wonder at people who manage to write daily blogs in spite of their business.

I will try and write one too…

Title : A day in the life of ….

Early mornings are for the birds and not us humans.

We slog, we party even harder, have dinners in the mornings and then go CRASH!

I hate the first rays of sunlight falling on my face whenever I am at home.

I love the first rays of sunlight enveloping me with its arrival, whenever I am outdoors.

I hate the early morning banter of normal humans, housewives, mothers, career women, assembling for a ritual breakfast before they proceed further to their daily grind.

My two year something old tugs at me and I look at her with ‘refusing to open” eyes. She puts a missing pillow underneath my head and walks back to her next spontaneous routine. I stare and wonder at the thoughtfulness emitting out from her.

I try to get back to sleep. But I know that I won’t because the thought process for the day has begun.

Every morning, the only reason to get up has been a hearty breakfast.

Right from my childhood days, when Ma rolled the chappatis to be picked up right from the tawa atop a kerosene run stove.

Everything has changed now. The kid, the young mother, the cracked koba floor, the tiny kitchen of the one room house and the kerosene run stove.

A much needed shower after some reflecting ablution.

And work begins.

After  work finishes at some hour of the evening, the only reason to live for another day is a cold pint of beer and another. And maybe another. The first sip of the civilization’s second born liquid passing through the mind and the heart (or is it the heart and the mind) with tingling delight, gathering renewal.

The last and the only reason to head towards home hurriedly and with dollops of guilt is to hope and meet my precious one at the door shouting “Hey! Papa, Papaa  ClapClapClap”

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I hate to work on Sundays. But the assignment was wrapped on an invitation to visit the freshly renovated, one and only, authentic seafood restaurant in Chembur. We set on a bike on a lovely Sunday traffic, meandering on the highway and criss-crossing the suburbs on to the central and were on the last lap when a fellow bike rider pointed towards the rear tyre. By the time we realized it, the bike groaned loudly with the added pressure of the deflated tyre. We walked the rest of the few blocks and were waited upon till the owner arrived. A round of seafood entrees followed by the main course including a very unique bhatkal biryani and finally some caramel pudding ended a sumptuous Sunday afternoon. The owner dropped us to the bike and guided us to the nearest mechanic. Temples are a very lucrative site for beggars. We dragged the bike to the parking lot and a street urchin raced towards us wanting to lead us to the mechanic. Before we could decide, he was already off and my fr...

A son is a son…

When life becomes routine and boring, I think of new devices. Once, in the middle of the night, I decided to hitch hike all the way home. Two walks and one hitchhike later, I was stranded along with a group of complete strangers who seemed to have missed their last mode of transport. I noticed a frail old man, bent by the burden of at least seventy to eighty years, waiting for a bus. I heard his cellphone ring and he answered his whereabouts, probably to a family member. Or maybe they just called to know whether he still existed or not. The phone disconnected while he had just begun to explain. I enquired and he told me that his wait was almost an hour long. We decided to share a rickshaw till home. He had retired from TCS and had three or four sons all well settled in affluent areas of Mumbai and Pune. He was sharp enough to trace my origin accurately through my accent, in spite of the fact that I was conversing in his native, quite fluently. He still worked for his living and ate onc...