Sunday morning

i woke up
to the soft warm scent
of morning skin,
toast on a tray
crisp and buttered,
fruit preserves
and condensed milk,
too-hot coffee mugs
and toasty hands,
clotted cream pillows
and sunlit curtains,
a lazy sunday
and promises
of tangerine kisses.

The rain, the jasmine and the romance of the flute

Last night, as I stepped out of the house, the scent of jasmine came drifting in from my brother’s garden. Fragrance, they say, is one of the most powerful aids to recalling long forgotten memories. I was transported back in time, to one of the most beautiful nights I've ever known.

It happened while I was a student at MCC. We had an active Spic Macay chapter at college and so we used to have all the big names in classical music & dance visiting us for lec-dems. On the night in question, we had Hari Prasad Chaurasia and such an evening it turned out to be. For one thing, it was in one of the open halls at night. For another, the guy organising it had a brainwave and moved out all the furniture so all of us were sitting on the floor on dhurries. It was raining, the jasmine was flowering and - providence! the lights went out. I say providence now, but at that point, all I felt was impatience. No lights, no performance and awww, I didn't want to lose out on a chance to listen to 'a great'. But providence it was, and so there we were, about 25 of us in the darkness - Pandit Chaurasia, someone accompanying him softly on a ghatam and the most heavenly music from his flute. He was to have given us a lec-dem for half an hour, but he just smiled and started to play.

If people like me with no musical sense could sense the romance of that night, I can imagine how he must have felt. He continued to play for about 2 hours, stopping now and again to talk to us. There was one lantern somewhere in a corner, so we just about had enough light to see each other. None of us spoke, but many smiles were exchanged in that soft lantern light. That night, listening to the music and watching the rain, I learnt that the best memories you take away with you when you leave a college, have nothing to do with academics.