Some random morning thoughts

I was in heaven, the cloudy smoke rings all around, sieving the sunlight through them. Ahead, an angel clad in white stood, holding a pristine white cloth. I sat back, watching the spectacle through my half clad eyes. The vision of heaven had never come to me this beautifully - the smoke rings, the bright light, the whiteness, the angels. It was phenomenal. But then, the phone rang in my shirt pocket.

The call was from Airtel and I had to pay my Broadband bills for the last two months. Three thousand bucks.

I remembered an adage: Money is the best vehicle from the world of dreams to the cruel, real one.

Then I rushed to survey my bright, cloudy, angel-inhabited heaven again. It was in ruins. My snuffed out cigarette lay under the chair; the girl on the next house's balcony had gone and her white bed sheet lay there fluttering in the breeze. The only definitive memory I have of the heaven was that it smelled of cigarette smoke.

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On some days like today, when I don't cook my breakfast, the only hotel I turn to is a run down malayalee tea-shop near my house. And daily I order the same menu - 3 poori's with potato masala,a double omlette and tea. The omlette and tea are taken together, bite by sip, at the end.

The potato masala that they give with the tea is so drab and tasteless and it makes me wonder how I keep on having it each time.

It must be because I have a faint memory of having a tasty masala from this shop. It was perhaps the first or second time since I started eating from here. Maybe its the hope of a repetition. Its funny how far hope can take you.

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Today, while I was eating, a lady sat in front of me, washing the plates. Daily she operates a grinder, staring ahead, with a curious impassive expression on her face . There is some undefinable air about her which depresses me.

But today she was sitting on the floor, plates piled up around her.

Suddenly one of the waiters moved around and knocked some plates down and it landed on her. She looked over her shoulder angrily and stared him down. An icy-cold stare. Cold fire.

But the waiter had moved across without noticing and was cracking jokes with someone outside. She was looking at thin air.

For a second, the mood was unique. She had no one to stare at. But she held the stare angrily for a couple of minutes. The culprit waiter guffawed outside at his own jokes, oblivious to what he had done.

Then she looked down and then went back to scrubbing the plates. Harder.

It was depressing. I felt I could feel her frustration brimming over and that it had more to it than just the knocked-down plates.

I didnt finish my tea.