Month: May 2020

She, a senior,
lives alone in a big city.
Has no help. Never attempts
to hire one, .unlike me
who gets upset when the cook
does not turn for work.

She owns no vehicle. Makes sure
to attend every festival,
celebrations on time.
Walks briskly, dines out,
travels in trains and buses,as much of
it looks fresh as a May morning.

I look at her with awe,
try to be like her alert
and agile. I am not a match
to her at any cost. I need
comfort at all places.so much
resemble a dull wintry sky.

The contrast seems so marked.
She, in her eighties, is an inspiration.
Have never seen her sulk, nor find
her caring, It is her life , she says,
Lives as she wishes unperturbed
of what other’s say.

It is disturbing,
calls from those
who work for me
and who have retired,
asking for help.

The one asks as a loan
the other as aid,
Unable to say no.
I transfer considerable
amount.

Engaging them with tasks
making wooden and cement
artifacts , painting them
beautifully would bring revenue.
A good lead.

They have to be motivated.
Purchasing raw material
requires money. The finished
ones should be sold. Another
process demanding attention.

My heart goes out to them.
Having access to funds, I can
involve them to manufacture.
Marketing needs proficiency.
I am not so good.

I see the world
through the windows
though the the doors are ajar.

The empty roads,
the silence that reign
scare me.

I withdraw quick.
Look inward
hear no noise.

Terrified,
I settle with a book
turns out to be a crime fiction..

Deceit followed by murder
is the theme sends
fear down my spine.

I shut the book, doze
wake up to an announcement
down the lane.

It is a loud one ordering
people to stay inside,
for their own safety.

Police , at every junction,
blow the whistle, slam
the vehicles that cross.

Corona spreads like fire.
Disillusioned I close the windows
and lock the doors.

The panic seems infectious,
frequent washing of hands,
social distancing and masks
become part of life.

Drying my hands in the ends of
my sari, I enter the parlour from
the kitchen. Just in time the mobile goes.
Annuar, my former chauffeur,
breaks down sobbing.

As being my habit, I cut theline
and call him back, I do not wish
my staff to pay for the call.
He tells for days he has been
eating only once a day.

He is an entrepreneur.
What could have happened?
The pandemic and the lockdown
have ruined life, one inflicts
illness, the other deprives
the spirit. Man at his wit’s end.