Indiscretions of a book

A book fell in love!
Blasphemous!!

courtesy:Google

THAT was not, definitely not meant to be!
It was never expected of it.
You know.. how you never expect sands to build a home on their own
Or how you never expect storms to facilitate your journey
Much the same, you do not expect a book to fall in love!
Books are not supposed to.
That too a book of this nature.

A serious, no-nonsense, intellectually stimulating book and it's knowledge-filled pages,
Each page inspired awe! Invoked respect! 
But seldom, love!

Don't get me wrong! You can love books!
Some books can be loved
For some books you can use the word weakness
They are nice, sweet, petite books.
They come across as vulnerable. 
They come wanting to be tucked below your pillow forever.
Not this one!

You don't expect anyone to love a book of this volume, of this nature.
You read. Close. Stay away.
Quote at times from memory.
Completely out of context, mostly!
Does not matter
Who else has read it anyway!

You generally maintain a respectful distance.
And to think, this book will fall in love!!
Pure blasphemy!!

But that happened.
The book with no gender,
Not even a single page on romance,
That confusing, respect-evoking, distant-natured book
Fell in love!

Games we play

I grew up in a small city.

And playing outdoors was the magic pill to combat long summer days.

Once out of home, we quickly discussed games to play that day. 

Image courtesy: Google

We looked for puddles to jump. 
Or bushy guava trees to climb. 

We ran from one street to another in groups.

Giggling and talking at the same time. 
All of us. 
Together. 

We ran like gushing water from pipes! 

We loved summer holidays!

My favourite game was hopscotch.

Connected squares or rectangles were drawn on tar roads
With a chalk or a broken piece of tile.

We raised our mid length frocks a little 
And jumped one legged. 

In summer mornings on the dark tarmac road,
The white marks almost stared at you.
Almost told you about boundaries but fell just a bit short, 
Because in hopscotch, it was easy to go past them. 

As we hopped to avoid one box or the other 

And to definitely avoid all the lines drawn, in either red or white,

We panted and laughed with joy, and prayed that the other failed to do so.
We cursed each other in jest. 
"May you put a step in the boundary!"
"May I come first!" We giggled!
Played pranks to break each other's concentration.

We looked at awe at those who finished the whole game at one go, 
Who reached home,
Without once going out of those connected boxes.
For reaching home was certainly not easy. 

Balancing oneself all the time on one leg, 

And hopping towards the "home", 
which was either at the centre or at the end, 

Reaching home was always difficult! 
You had to go past all the boxes, one by one.

Never stepping on the lines and never putting both the feet on the floor.

We wiped our knotted brows straight, 
Only when we reached home, in a hopscotch square.

We smiled at our friends waiting for their turns outside the box then.  

Many years later, it seems I still play hopscotch. 

I  carefully hop through some days, never touching the glaring lines,

Although they shine bright to catch my attention. 

Not letting my dice fall in the wrong box and never getting out of the box, anyway.

(What was the hurry to get in the box, I wonder!

Was it the game itself?)

Avoiding dates, jumping through some, to the next.

Making sure I do not take note of the day, 

Or making sure others do not catch me taking a note at least. 

I untie my knotted brow once those days pass. 

I raise my head and smile at a friend.

And I nod my head, as I see her getting into that enticing game of boxes.