Friday, September 09, 2005

Almost a Perfect Day

Standing on the fifth floor terrace
of an apartment complex
under construction in Mysore,
I gaze across the horizon. It’s a
magical monsoon Friday afternoon.

The verdant Chamundi hills is
silhouetted behind the
sagging clouds and as the misty
fine rain turns to a light drizzle,
it’s like being in Munnar or Kodaikanal.
The lush hill veiled by the
gauzy downpour looks demure,
like a shy bride of the yore.
How nice it would be to right now
sip a cuppa steaming tea
and read/write in a verandah hammock.
Or just stare at the mystical rain
from a balcony.
Or go plant a tender sapling somewhere.
Or just roast some grounduts and eat.
Or just drive in the slush,
and listen to some sad songs.

Bursting my bubbling holiday spirits,
I walk back to my dingy
site office, to finish the days work.
And maybe I’ll have to work on
the weekend too.

Only mad dogs and Englishmen
used to be out on hot afternoons.
Now, only idiots and me
work on gorgeous days like this.
Almost a perfect day, to contemplate on
stepping off the terrace.