The Tinge...

The Tinge…

The first rain on the parched earth,
A tinge of aroma of the first wet mud.
Schools cancelled, roads mud-puddled
Collars-pockets of shirts ruffled
Crisply ironed pleated skirts side-turned, shuffled.
A tinge of joy - a child’s giggle - as we break through those wrought-iron imprisoning gates all at once like a chorus jingle.
A tinge of fear as we broke that cursed vintage window…
What a pleasurable tinge it was to put a finger on the just made hot apple-pie kept for cooling on the shadowed kitchen corridor..!
A tinge of fantasy as I lie watching the clouds transmutating to different forms,
Goofing it all up yet laughing out loud as we mess up the first ever session of a ballroom dance….!
Ravished eyes
Behold such charms
One tender sigh
From the golden girl
And all men stand enchanted and disarmed!
It’s a tinge to watch a budding flower
To steady a flickering flame
To spruce up a sprouting seed
Or to feel the tingle of an ant crawling on my feet.
It’s a tinge to inhale those petrol-kerosene-gasoline fumes of the vehicular exhaust pipes
Like it’s a tinge to stand up and speak out in a jeering crowd all alone with ‘’your own voice booming out’’ loud.
It’s a tinge to see the meaded honey drip out of the honey comb
To see the ale from malt
To pinch the leaves, crush ginger for a spicier tea
To gather those bunched up grapes for a heady wine
To brew the coffee beans for that mug of filter coffee
As one draws ale from rye or barley…
It’s a tinge feeling when your flight is just to land or about to take off.
It’s a tinge when that perfect dress that you’ve set your eyes upon stays on that window pane till the last day of sale, the day you get your pay cheque….
It’s a tinge when the price tag on your new dress tickles your back or kisses your neck…
It’s a tinge when the sun comes out, dissipates darkness, ushers in light
It’s a tinge of wonder when through the rain, the rainbow shines, as the line of birds on the tiled roof resume their flight…
It’s a tinge of that swing in your step as you watch a handsome young man sipping his coffee, sitting cross-legged
It’s a tinge to ride the bike down the slope with the gushing wind across your face numbing your tiny nose…
It’s a tinge to trek atop a mountain or dive in to the deep Italian Mediterranean…
It’s a tinge of anti-gravity push on the Singaporean G-force ride, like it’s the tinge of seeing swarming schools of fishes on coral coastal side…
It’s a tinge to lick off your hands the pulp of a juicy ripe mango,
It’s a tinge to stone those tamarinds sour – relish its ‘’tango’’
It’s a tinge of anticipation just before la douche pours over me its first cold sprinkle
It’s a tinge wearing the just ironed warm clothes after the cold shower.
It’s a tinge to smell the oil-bathed, freshly Johnson and Johnson’s powdered baby’s fragrance
It’s a tinge to watch the reddening of the baby’s cheek under the scorching sun…
It’s a tinge to perhaps feel the baby’s mouth suckling at his mother’s breasts
It’s a tinge to hear incessantly the roaring of sea-waves…
It’s a tinge of thrill hanging out on the Mumbai local trains or jumping on the footboard of the double-deckers or jay crossing trespassing the ‘’yet to turn green’’ signal…
It’s a tinge of going around in those revolving doors or wet your feet in someone else’s fountain park…
It’s a tinge of relief after peeing hot pee in your neighbors garden orchid pot..!!
It’s a tinge to smell the incense sticks or hear those chiming bells to be blessed with turmeric-tulsi-ashes-a kernel coconut
It’s a tinge of pleasure to dig one’s ear with a titillating ear-bud
It’s a tinge to feel the cold marble stoned floor of the temples like it’s a tinge to listen to the chants of the Rudra-Japa-Gayatri Mantra…
It’s a tinge watching the Wagah border military parade or the final run to be scored by India in an Indo-Pak cricket match, like its an untiring tinge to every Indian listening to our National Anthem with utmost respect and absolute attention…
It’s a tinge enthralled by the divinity of the illuminating candles in the church.
It’s a tinge seeing a hundred heads bow in prayer in unison to ‘’Allah’’ in a moment of respectful reverence.
It’s a tinge feeling having poky hair despite enduring those painful wax sessions

Words combining with thoughts - lost within knowing
Simplicity - liberation found.
It’s a tinge the smell of a new book or the early morning’s newspaper print.
It’s a tinge finding old Ferrero Rochers wrappers tucked and forgotten until this very moment in some old book…
It’s a tinge watching the lovers meet, reunite rekindle only to be distanced again, romancing at train stations as the flags wave down, the whistles blow, the train inches forward with the green signal ‘’Go’’…
A tinge of sorrow while listening to Amadeus Mozart’s Requiem
A tinge of nostalgia while walking along the streets of Paris
Yellow, red, golden falling leaves of tree barren autumns
A tinge of musical strings, of chords played, of swerving swooning dances orchestrated, performed, appreciated, applauded.
A tinge of victory…a tinge of laughter of familiar voices
A tinge of the golden light through the dews on the grass…holes on the walls…imperfections in our paths…
A tinge of peace to see a shawl draped sleeping child….squares of colors, empty doorways, sketching portraits, oil-painting a landscape…
A tinge of feminity, clinging of those glass bangles, resounding anklets with the on-going festivity…
A tinge to see the trail of red sindoor on her fore-head.
A tinge of shyness when he steals a glance at her, like when the cold mehendi on your hands gives you a tinge wanting to itch your back…
It’s a tinge when you whiff the roasted cashews and almonds in ghee or the piping aroma of the cinnamon tea
It’s a tinge of something existing as a memory or are they just treasures hidden in the next moment ‘’soon to pass’’ fleeting seconds?
It’s a tinge of misty greens, of warm-baked-butter-choco-chip cookies
It’s a tinge of mind moving patterns on that ceiling fan, drifting me to a hypnotic deep slumber when I’m in despair..
Wind blown pages
Blue-inked words
Note-pad smudged..
Pages curl..
Textured with dust
Would the spark be kindled? Rekindled?
A hint?
A pinch?
A touch?
A tone?
Or just no hopes?
A tinge when something comes to an end
As the orange fiery sun dips in to the blue ocean
Knit one
Pearl two
Like the costume-clown almost through
That piercing glint
That endearing stint
Wafts away in the wind like my Elizabeth Ardour perfume – innocent- free-sweet
The wishful dream sweeping me off my feet …
Like the rising sun
The setting moon
Trees in flame
Drenched in rain
Dawn’s light
In diffused delight
With a tinge of attraction
With a tinge of repulsion
With a tinge of craving
With a tinge of aversion
With a tinge of love
With a tinge of anguish
With a tinge of hopeful hopelessness
With a tinge of hope against hope…
Soaked
Imbued
Inspired
Intoxicated
Here I’m
But sooner or later, the nicer ‘’me’’ may resume…