plotpoints

Having a room collected up with possessions that harmonize a colour in its different shades for a schoolboy in a city like Chennai is lousily unfashionable but, without weirdos around what would we smile about on the inside, let's be real.  From the deliberated choice of coarse sheets to pillowcases to the mahogany teak dressing table to the fluffy bath towel left carelessly over the four post bed frame to the wardrobe attached to the wall on the other end to the carpet beneath, every eventual property was down to the colour red. He rushes upstairs grabbing his coffee by the hand, still inside the maroon jersey worn to bed last night, to the terrace, past the clothesline anticipating he should be on time. Chennai's mid-morning sun does not actually scorch through the damp fabric. He quickly refashions his face to absolutely disinterested and eyeshots impassively at the 9 AM scheduled tushy, cute as a cinnamon roll stride past his house to work. This custom was forev...

Chennai. Sunday April 26 2020 With my copy of "The God of Small Things" beside me I was quite asleep till 4 AM when my feet felt uncomfortably cold. A sudden urge to fetch more rugs and sheets or maybe a blanket crept up. Also, to my discovery, I had used the living room for the night. Guess I couldn't be bothered after binge reading the entire evening.  It's dark outside and now(6:45 AM) when I decided to write this, it's still dark. Cold walls. Cold feet. Wind hooting through. Occasional hits of lightning and a heavy, stingy shower of water outdoors. Thunderstorm. Or at least, my smartphone says so. 35°/24° Cloudy. Thunderstorm. My nose tip's probably turned icy and I so badly wanted to warm myself up. It kind of scared me when the first thing I registered was this tall huge purple figure moving on to me, which was actually the curtains that were a metre away from my couch, swaying back and forth. Quick fact:- I can be lazy. And with mornings lik...