Will she turn yellow?

At office, my lunch-companion today was caravan.
It offered me an article that called manmohan a falling man. One more that took me on a ride with the lady whose voice greets and instructs passengers on Delhi metro rails. And another that warned me about the fraudulent real estate schemes. I wished for a moment that I, instead, had a human company who could talk the caravan-talks. Yet, without a sigh(or suppressed one), I shifted my glance away from the magazine to see if the tabebuia, on the far left, down in the garden, had started trumpeting her summer yellow yet. Signs there were, but, she was still mostly green.

A worthy wait it will be, said a voice in my head, for she'll turn beautiful. Two few more months of wait to see her in yellow.
Worthy indeed, I was beginning to think.

'No wait is a worthless one', my Sanskrit teacher, I remembered, had told the class while translating a Subhashitam.

Really?, thought I. If all the waits were just for the waits to cease, I would not have disagreed. But, it is not so, said the voice in my head. It is almost never so. You never wait just for the wait to get over. You wait for your favorite line of the song that is playing on your player to repeat. You wait for Santa's to creep down the chimney-line and for clocks to tick tea-time. You wait for bulls to beat the bears and for bears to eat up honeycombs. You wait for the missing jigsaws to fall into place and for the Rubik's to be solved. You wait for bright friday mornings and for crimson summer evenings... you wait for seasons to begin and for seasons to end. You wait for questions and for answers. You wait for beginnings, you wait for climaxes and you wait for endings ~ hoping all along that the aftermaths will go your way.

You wait under the umbrella listening to malhaar on the rainy evenings of june; You wait warmly huddled within sheets of cold blankets on december nights; You wait with the hope of seeing your dreams come true..you wait with the hope of seeing promises being fulfilled and words being kept.

With a bated breath and a pacing heart, a racing mind and wandering thoughts, with tear-filled eyes and longing arms, you wait for a few things to take shape and for a few others to dissolve and fade away... you wait for those that left without bidding a bye and for those that left with a promise to return.


Cycling through your waiting-longing-hoping cycles, for one moment, you stop to take a look. You see how you have entwined your waits with your hopes. And your hopes with your dreams. In a frenzy, you see how deeply the rigmaroles have buried you. And how naively you've positioned yourself as the last card in the long domino trail.

Did you want this thus? No, says the voice in your head and you shake your head resignedly. Not this. Not thus.

Until yesterday night, you were a girl who hand-picked dreams for her dreambasket. And tonight, you are a girl devastated by reality.


Yet, again, with all your heart, you wish the tabebuia turns yellow sooner, come summer.