Blue whale in the rain speaks of no trains.

By the sea
it rains
pours

endlessly.

buckets and katoris and spoons
of flailing cats and dogs
caught mid-flight, gasping
between the high and the fall.

a word-dismissive script
of piece-meal stories and haphazard,wide-eyed people
sits on my lap.

By the sea, the rain shivels into thread-bare ropes, and starts to sprinkle the city with images of what is now yesterday.

Batallions rise in the evenings
heaving over the water in blackening smoke-fish patterns.

and the nights grow longer,
and the rain plays havoc with trains,
and the pages get dog-eared with forgetfullness,
and rabbitty looking blue whale thumbs get lost in different spaces,
and an unexpected music greets the dawn,
and a new day that dissolves into the next and the next and the next one again,
and the weekend sprouts 2 extra limbs with a sudden,'hello'.

..When I go to Bombay and come all the way back.

Listen to 'Down by the sea', Morcheeba.

Jamaican jerck chicken-Eliots beach-GuindiSTOP.

Before you
step
into
unconsciousness..

Where in the world is Guindi?
I staggered,rather than hopped,off a crowded Madras local train at that very station into blinding sunlight.Looks like the world still does manage to go on after 12 years living away from it.
Mum thai's musty,dusty and eternally dim-lit cluster of rooms inside corners.Cold maroon tiles,cold creaky door,and endless glasses of cold milky throat-ravaging liquid that I was gratified to refer to as 'moere'and not chaas.
What are inheritances.
And how ethical is it-in whatever context you may place it-to help tabulate your own?Lets eradicate,for a moment,the rare-case scenarios. I find that classifying every other scenario ends up in insulting the idea of 'once in a blue moon'. The question still buzzes.
Sorry reminders,overexposed photographs.
'Oops,I spilt rum on your mattress.'
Burden me,burden yourself. Burden the whole world by unburdening yourself upon an ungrateful multitude. Even better,stop thinking and start living a well-baked life.
Quite like the Jamaican jerk chicken I ate at something called an 'American Diner'.The sauce tasted like lemoney rasam,and the rice like puliogarre.It was divinely exotic,I might add.
Tamilian waiters can sound like Americans(Oh my GAAD!),and Malayalees like the English.(Oh my GOAWD!)That was the most edibly enlightening bit of conversation Ive had in quite a few months. Sorry National Institute of Dejine. My heart lies in south after all.

Paperback writer,write me a song and I'll sing along.
I go,I go,in search of peace and a happy means to an unpredictable and inconsequential end.
And I end my 2-week sabbatical with inky eyes,eyes ready to spill out your story and mine.