I was sitting on a seashore with my eyes glued to the sunset amidst the coconut trees
When this hand came out and pulled me in the waves to take a walk,
I was afraid of the water but the firm yet soft hand never let me go,
Making me feel confident and homely with the beautiful terrain of God’s own country.
The hand smelled of fish and spices but still I held onto it for a little further hoping to never let go.
I was getting accustomed to a new fragrance of a new breeze,
The breeze of a new sport of 90 minutes in my life.
The game became a religion and the players became familiar,
the rules got by-hearted and the jersey was the new wardrobe collection.
The hand offered me a glass of Whiskey and for the first time the tongue which was tied on never to let it happen
Got an acquired taste for the Black Dog Triple reserve with coconut water and ice.
If that was not all, I learned that tea can also become an addiction, so far without milk
Just add the lemon with mint and tea leaves with sugar, boil it in water and you get your Sulemani chai.
All these new recipes from Sambhar to Sulemani chai, from deep fried okra to Appam with Kadla curry
Added a lot many spices and ingredients in my kitchen’s cupboard,
And after the hand was no longer there, I was standing clueless to what to do with these jar full of spices,
Could not have the courage to throw them out and did not have the skills to use them in my cooking.
So I just packed them in a box and shoved them deep down, hoping for them to miraculously disappear some day.
Mammootty and Mohanlal were no more anonymous to my celebrity lists,
From “Virus” to “Premam”, from “Sudani from Nigeria” to “Kumbalangi Nights”,
I never realized when I became used to watching the subtitled movies more than the easier yet senseless Bollywood cinema.
Still carrying the watchlist with me, I no longer have the explanation for the wrong subbed dialogues, so I just let it be.
When you are the prettiest there are many hands holding out glasses for you,
It is when you are the ugliest that the soul which truly cares reaches out to you,
The hand always wiped away all my tears and applied the aloe vera to soothen every scar and every burn,
Even during the viral season, the hand was always by the side to take care every hour, never leaving me alone,
Making hot rice water and soup, giving cold bandage compressions, giving meds and hot water,
The care, the selflessness, the purity, the comfort, the wfh, the leaves for a week, everything was for me.
The google searches on PCOD, the hot water bag compressions, the natural remedies for every craving,
Every good memory of those difficult times never ceases from flashing back and making me hold onto a little bit more,
To pull you back and to never let go.
The never ending soul stirring musical notes, the melodious voice,
My first canvas and the sketch pencils bought for me by the hand to let me explore what I always neglected,
I started again doodling and writing all because of the push that the hand gave me,
The hand which got lost when I started to discover myself again, when I started to be happy again.
The storm had passed, the waves had gotten silent, the wind became calm,
The hand left me back at the shore, sound and safely and whispered in my ears,
“You are a brave soul, you can do this from here now on all alone…”
I tried to grab the hand one last time hoping to never let go,
But it was so late and by the time I woke up from this dream,
I found myself holding onto my MacBook with the blog opened and the last lines for my travel adventure
Bon voyage….dedicated to all the good reminiscences of the getaways with thy hand.
When this hand came out and pulled me in the waves to take a walk,
I was afraid of the water but the firm yet soft hand never let me go,
Making me feel confident and homely with the beautiful terrain of God’s own country.
The hand smelled of fish and spices but still I held onto it for a little further hoping to never let go.
I was getting accustomed to a new fragrance of a new breeze,
The breeze of a new sport of 90 minutes in my life.
The game became a religion and the players became familiar,
the rules got by-hearted and the jersey was the new wardrobe collection.
The hand offered me a glass of Whiskey and for the first time the tongue which was tied on never to let it happen
Got an acquired taste for the Black Dog Triple reserve with coconut water and ice.
If that was not all, I learned that tea can also become an addiction, so far without milk
Just add the lemon with mint and tea leaves with sugar, boil it in water and you get your Sulemani chai.
All these new recipes from Sambhar to Sulemani chai, from deep fried okra to Appam with Kadla curry
Added a lot many spices and ingredients in my kitchen’s cupboard,
And after the hand was no longer there, I was standing clueless to what to do with these jar full of spices,
Could not have the courage to throw them out and did not have the skills to use them in my cooking.
So I just packed them in a box and shoved them deep down, hoping for them to miraculously disappear some day.
Mammootty and Mohanlal were no more anonymous to my celebrity lists,
From “Virus” to “Premam”, from “Sudani from Nigeria” to “Kumbalangi Nights”,
I never realized when I became used to watching the subtitled movies more than the easier yet senseless Bollywood cinema.
Still carrying the watchlist with me, I no longer have the explanation for the wrong subbed dialogues, so I just let it be.
When you are the prettiest there are many hands holding out glasses for you,
It is when you are the ugliest that the soul which truly cares reaches out to you,
The hand always wiped away all my tears and applied the aloe vera to soothen every scar and every burn,
Even during the viral season, the hand was always by the side to take care every hour, never leaving me alone,
Making hot rice water and soup, giving cold bandage compressions, giving meds and hot water,
The care, the selflessness, the purity, the comfort, the wfh, the leaves for a week, everything was for me.
The google searches on PCOD, the hot water bag compressions, the natural remedies for every craving,
Every good memory of those difficult times never ceases from flashing back and making me hold onto a little bit more,
To pull you back and to never let go.
The never ending soul stirring musical notes, the melodious voice,
My first canvas and the sketch pencils bought for me by the hand to let me explore what I always neglected,
I started again doodling and writing all because of the push that the hand gave me,
The hand which got lost when I started to discover myself again, when I started to be happy again.
The storm had passed, the waves had gotten silent, the wind became calm,
The hand left me back at the shore, sound and safely and whispered in my ears,
“You are a brave soul, you can do this from here now on all alone…”
I tried to grab the hand one last time hoping to never let go,
But it was so late and by the time I woke up from this dream,
I found myself holding onto my MacBook with the blog opened and the last lines for my travel adventure
Bon voyage….dedicated to all the good reminiscences of the getaways with thy hand.
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