My mother told me that I had an uncle,
The sporadic tales aligned themselves
This morn along the spine missed for too long
Fresh from the confrontation
with droplet mirrors of callow winter
That will feather and mature when I'll cotton to my
Woolens again and vice-versa
The phoenix winter that makes my eyes somnolent,
Which falls upon the almirah knob
Adorned with rust- of sweat and air
That spills secrets to the inside
There roosted a defiant photograph, of the uncle I never knew,
Alone in the rule of seal-it packets
With no cascades posing for a backdrop, neither was he drinking from a chiseled elephant fountain nor did aliens photo bomb
The eyes did not yield a glimmer, no halo emanated from behind his visage declaring enlightenment. Shirt not pressed even for the camera, hair not set wet in style
My mother said I sparked his demeanor when I combed my hair for the first time
Out of the self consciousness that fruits out of pubescence.
The tree has been looted by lumberjacks since
She said he made,
An electric fishing rod-in a time when the gods of electricity had not graced the village, when nights were fought with moonlight and kerosene lamps fueled with ration kerosene- A feeble zap to the fishes that lasted a jiffy till they returned free into the channel that flows in front of the house.
The same one in which my father flung me once, following the phrase that desperation teaches even the worst
But did he know that I was me?
They fetched me up a minute ahead
She told me that he,
Dissected a radio, and parts of which combined with an earthen pot produced a woofer that rocked the brook-side hamlet but not my grandfather who caned him with a broom
And one fine day,
When my mother was the age I am now,
When Calphurnia had no dreams of whelping lionesses,
No stars twinkled outside their nature and the sun swooped up from the east and shone the brightest on the shore-side village for all but my mother's kin.
She told me that it,
Was the day he ran away with his pockets full of aspirations and dreams, never to be heard from again.
My grandparents consulted the police and then a divine man, who stated his return, shall arrive after my grandfather's departure,
Death being a busy man, with laundry to do and three naughty cats to look after, disappointed
I do not know the feelings of my grandparents, my mother, me myself, but I can but hope to write a follow up to this piece when he returns from a place with guts big enough to digest his dreams and a heart ample for his aspirations..
~Ajay
18/11/17
