my yellow submarine

when you think of a city, specially one inhabitated by a million people, you think of it in colours of smog, pollution, dust.

sweat, hurry, vertical towers, they all have a shade card in my head, that's restricted to dull brown and murky grey.

yet, i find so much colour when i look away from the picture that crowds, local trains, no time to look up at the sky present.

the vegetable stalls that line the roads at khar. i can never pass them without wanting to stop and stare. or breathe deeply. or reach out and sink my hand into the wet sack cloth under which the vegetables gleam.

i've never been inclined towards the taste of red radish. but i can never resist them because i love the way they look. shy, and pink, and young. like a bunch of friends giggling together. then there are the brinjals. shaped like my happy punjabi relatives and clothed in soothing purple kaftans. like they're just back from a satsang with a trippy maharishi. and the springhtly ladies fingers or good old bhindis. fresh green and like PT Usha. Bhindis always look like they are fit and fresh enough to win a 100 meter race.

of course i just love the saag section. all jumbled and entanged. different shades of green, different textures. and once in a while the lal saag that's actually a combination of pink and red, peeks through the jumble.

the spring onions, with juicy stalks, white merging into lushious green. a cut pumpkin, revealing it's orange insides. the fat tomatoes resting on each other, red and confused. the yellow-white cauliflower like giant alice in wonderland flowers.

my,

i get high

just staring at vegetables.

moral of the story: people are weird!