The Creaking Chair - Part I
21 December 1997
This is just a veritable diary entry of an old man,
so if you are sneaking through
in anticipation of some covert tell tale,
I suggest you turn to the diary entry on 16 August 1953
All that you'll get here is Cognitive Content....
Its already quarter past 6 in the morning,
and in anticipation of the newspaper
I follow my regular treading on the veranda...
"Kamal !! Babuji is again outside,this early,
Make him come in, you know how susceptible he is to the cold"
I can hear bahu in her cajolery tongue,
trying to wake Kamal from his morning slumber...
When I was his age,I used to be up and running
like a steaming engine by this time.
I was in Bangalore then,
at the center of a mushrooming entrepreneurial hub..
My mornings were mainly consumed in charting out the days work
And by 7 I used to be onto the streets,
riding on dreams,
"Dadaji,its cold outside,come in,
I'll get you the paper when it arrives"
Kamal's youngest son,holds my hand
almost dragging me inside the house,
with such ingenious love,
I can hardly resist....
Dressed up in his navy blue shorts,
and white shirt,
that shimmer of a freshly fallen dew upon the pasture,
the infectious vigour,
so easily pulls me back to the days,
I was so like him,
only a bit more impish...
The newspaper has the same story every day,
Its such a regular objection,since ages now,
It has almost dubbed itself as truth...
Yet for a 70 year old man,
with all the time in the world to ponder
on situations that he possibly cannot alter
A critics position is a caper.....
Stopping abruptly....Kamal's arranged for floodlights in the backyard...
Badminton on a cold night....I was a champion once....
alas! I'll only watch today.....
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