perfect day, gone wrong...
happiness makes up in height what it lacks in length
Oh, stormy stormy world,
The days you were not swirled
Around with mist and cloud,
Or wrapped as in a shroud,
And the sun’s brilliant ball
Was not in part or all
Obscured from mortal view ––
Were days so very few
I can but wonder whence
I get the lasting sense
Of so much warmth and light.
If my mistrust is right
It may be altogether
From one day’s perfect weather,
When starting clear at dawn,
The day swept clearly on
To finish clear at eve.
I verily believe
My fair impression may
Be all from that one day
Not shadow crossed but ours
As though its blazing flowers
We went from house to wood
For change of solitude.
one day's perfect weather... spring in delhi at its glorious blossoming best, with cool winds, warm sun and rainwashed shining skies.
already sorrow to remember it, and know it past.
on my cycle in the morning, for one of the best interviews i've ever had.
back to a home filled with love and laughter.
in the evening, after work, walking through the shade and sunlight of the forested ridge, and to stand still and watch monkeys at play.
strung between trees, a thick black cable, carrying electricity or data across the hill and forest.
monkeys, all sizes, from the featherweight wizened faced babies, to the poderously heavy red balled alpha males, all trying to figure out this new slippery medium of arboreal horizontal mobility, as contrasted to climbing up trees...
different grips are tried, different weights are tested... some with worried deliberation, mostly with gay abandon. what happens when two monkeys come face to face on a cable suspension bridge? a monkey traffic jam? no, one monkey hangs upisde down while the other crosses over... no problem. are you reading this automobile manufacturers and delhi traffic police?
(for more details on monkeys on the ridge, read ranjit lal's delightful 'the life and times of altu faltu'...)
golden light and long shadows and the chirping of birds in the manicured lawns and massed flowers of the Universities various gardens...
a long conversation with gogo about madness, reality, the real world and the world of spin, post-modernity and ethics... and all without booze...
a sunset of blue sky and pink flaming horizon, and the thinnest sliver of new moon.. al-hilal. the red fort slipping by, seen through the bus window, silhouetted against the deep blue of twillight...
with the sun setting, the perfection of the day went away too. it was too good to last. all it needs is half an hour, happenstance and unforgiven grievances.
the world can change in half an hour...
and only sting could have written a hip hop song with french rap thrown in about a dog whose master/mistress acquires another 'un...
perfect love, gone wrong indeed...