Jamun Sky

I have turned into an insomniac. Every night I sit up till 3 am. Doing what? Nothing actually. A lot of music has come to be a part of my life. And a room on my own leaves a lot of space for all the introspection & retrospection that I think I have subconsciously needed since a long time now.

The rain lashes at my window. Almost jeering at me…telling me that tomorrow it will be another ordeal to get out of home - in folded jeans and converse chappals and an umbrella…while trying to block the wind that brings the rain from all directions…and then hunting for a taxi to the station…while struggling more to save some part of myself from the water…and walk on the road…hoping that some car doesn’t rush by, merrily splashing me with dirty water… there is so much water… oh it makes me want to sit in an oven and dry myself…it makes me not want to drink water even…it makes my fingertips like crinkled grapes… it makes me feel like a specimen of osmosis…it makes me want to curl up in my bed and sleep till the end of monsoon here…wake me up when September ends!

I called myself “characteristically confused” today. What a term to use. I thought about it all the while in the train while listening to Babylon. Rainy days make me want to listen to happy music. While I popped in some jamuns that I bought from in front of the station. I love the strange taste of jamun…so exotic…not sweet, not sour…just flavoured in its own essence. And I love the colour. Oh royal purple. Like purple satin. So gorgeous.
I think jamun is a gorgeous fruit. Splendid. Super. Grand. Yet so common. And with it, the multiple stories that we read in junior hindi classes… jamun trees and the efforts to steal them from the neighbours garden… or the jamun excesses at granpa’s place. oh I love jamun. And I think purple is beautiful.
Only I hardly wear it. I love black and red. Turquoise and green come next.

A bath before sleeping is a must every night. Mumbai is a huge glorified pothole with pigeon holed houses. Only I feel rather cool – I live with my mom’s brother and his family in a spacious sea facing apartment at the very uppity Malabar Hill. That is, until I move out on my own…which should happen in the next ten days. Sigh. I am so used to my little cousins here. I will miss them so much. I’m such a softie.

These hours to myself are actually useful. The train trips with my books and music is an added advantage if we look at the travelling crap in a slightly positive way. Putting aside some time to think-think is so essential. Everyone should do it. Anywhere. Long bath. Star gazing. Evening walk. Night time. Anytime. It is therapeutic. Makes me ask myself if what I have right now is what I actually want or whether I want more out of life and love.
Love is an overrated concept. Or have I not said that before. Loud and clear? Like from the top of a ten floor building. With a mike. And huge imaginary speakers. But let me correct myself. It isn’t an overrated concept but an overrated word. Otherwise, it is wonderful – this love thing – to be able to give and express and receive – everything abstract and beautiful – and in the words of Beatles, “All you need is love”! I miss being pampered. I miss being loved. I think I just miss dad and mom. And my brother.
Someone once told me…when you start missing your parents everyday…you, my dear friend, are getting old. This is my tenth year of being away from home. And I am missing my family all over again. It feels like school. But I am not young. I must definitely be getting old. I think I need to go back to granpa’s house and try stealing some jamuns again. Purple tongue. Purple memories. Purple fruit. The world is pretty again.

It is 2:44 am now. I think all this thoughtless random scribbling is soon becoming more haphazard…like my thoughts…slumber is taking over me. I think office begins early tomorrow. Oh how I hate punctual bosses. Sleep and let sleep…no? I have a purple tongue. I think my dream tonight shall be tinged purple too. A purple haze is taking over me. And it rains and it rains and it rains and it rains. It never stops. “Wake me up when September ends”. What the heck…one more song won’t kill me… but one more paragraph will.
Whoops…the jamuns are over!
Purple sky. Purple fullstop.