Was it strange, those days?

Was it strange, those days?

When we played hide and seek,

in cupboards for hours

knowing the seeker wasn’t even going to look

but we secretly wanted to be found?

Jumping that trampoline or the glass table till they both


When you were minding your business and I mine,

all the way to the hospital

when the car wheels

crunched my toes,

and your innocence

while you were

feeding red play-dough to unsuspecting cats?

Was it strange when you religiously sipped hibiscus nectar

or when I giggled until i threw up laughter

that you did thus?

Was it strange, the long hadududududus we chanted,

stealing a breath when the enemy team wasn’t looking?

Or when our ice-cream chocobars slobbered down the granite

and past those

tights with drastic runs?

Or that time you fell into the drain trying to grab a guava from the tree?

Or when we drove a baby taxi to avoid the traffic jams

only to be plastered paint by cricket fans?

Twin sisters sans any,

Vitamin c and a plethora of excuses in a rose garden

every Wednesday of color-coding monkey business

with lethal bites and haystacks in our needles?

Or when we recounted our long  phone conversations,

Commiserating on disgraceful Saudi royal standards

and laughing when we drank the morning dew off leaves?

Was it strange, that we cried when we lost you in a circus,

Only to find ourselves on a loudspeaker?

Now, it is drizzling, and the roaches,

they don’t scare as much,

And I wonder…

Was it strange when I screamed and you dangled those cretins

until I woke up?


with Loppy and Sony, and so many more haystacks,

that foul-mouthed mynah?

Was it strange, our acrobatics-led classes by visiting firangis

spelling out YMCA while the beggars looked disdainfully at the


sandpit residues plastered over our uniforms?

Was it strange that she used to call us and say

bennalai dakthey dakhtey dakhtey dakhtey mori jabo

standing in that creaky doorway

With pithas and panache?

Was it strange

That time the earth shook and we felt

raining coconuts

had cracked the obstinate sky

coercing the heavens to stop clinging on to the drought?

Or more so that you bought Mayfair on your first roll of dice

and I landed in prison

after two days of not winning forty rounds of Ludo?

Is it strange, all these little remnants of kuasha

Writers, astronauts, magicians, chefs and

pinching pennies off our penny-pinching brethren,

or how far the seeds of those air-borne dreams

have dispersed?

Were we as ecstatic then, that we could touch our toes,

or when we couldn’t touch them anymore when we grew up and became

less nimble?

Or that we had to try for years before we could do so again?

Or is it strange now, when we hardly even contemplate these toes anymore?


2 thoughts on “Was it strange, those days?

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