Conjuring Comfort

Bombay, the lovely mermaid, spews warmth and stupor in the afternoons, this time of the year. The lullaby of her trains is an invitation to close the eyes and think Comfort. Sometimes them fingers twirl toes, carelessly yet consciously, while perched on a bean bag, a book hugging the chest - close and secure - the gentle incoherent buzz of the telly providing apposite background, waiting for the piping hot filter Kaapi to cool off, just a li'l bit. A mere shadow of time, waxing and waning, when the mundanities of a weekend morning mature into ambitious plans for the evening, when the last warmth of the day, breezes into the living room through the relenting cotton curtains, and the distant sea glimmers, little diamonds sputtering multicolours. Startled eyes close in indignant self defense, like waking up late afternoon after twelve hours of sleep, to open curtains and golden light. When Night nonchalantly spreads her cold fangs and hands reach out for denim jackets and sweatshirts, your careless singing on a forgotten night, assails the ear with a startling familiarity, with the intonations, inflections and imperfections perfectly in place. It could almost be one of the voices in my head. Blanket tucked under my chin, the soft glow of the telly, the satiated feeling of the warm mug of milk just before bed, when the alarm rings early in the morning, the sound of bare feet trotting back to bed and trying to find the warm burrow under the covers with thoughts lobbying for five more minutes of sleep, feeling of socked feet on being released at the end of the day, cold ears after a long hot bath, hair tossed and turned by strong winds, bike rides late night when the road stretches into infinity bordered by street lamps. The pied piper conjures lessons in comfort out of insignificant moments, adding up to a smile at the thought of it all, irregular clouds moving together forming white patterns and breezes heralding rain.