I am a regular at Prithvi..The cafe.
and those who are regularly regular, know Mr. Joshi or know of Mr.Joshi, or Joshi Uncle..The lone figure with a flowing white beard playing a flute..under the tree..just by himself ..for himself.
He comes plays..enjoys it for it’s sake…says a passing hello to anyone who cares to salute..him or his spirit ..actually it’s the same thing, for this 75 yr young..free spirit and just as inconspicuously goes away.
A couple of months ago, when I was sitting with a some friends, listening to the meloncholy strains of the flute…the music..stopped.
And my friend equally abruptly asked…Why did he stop so ..suddenly.
This suddenly gave birth to this poem :
Lingering Thoughts
The rumbling humdrum of voices
Dreams, exhilaration, hopes, Suleimani chai glasses
Continues……
The Mellow strains of Mr. Joshi’s flute
Stops.
Abruptly.
They say..
Why does he not linger?
Taper off
Be gradual
More gentle
Why?
So ….Sudden.
Sudden?
It’s done.
He’s done.
He’s played
Lived, Loved
Smiled, Got lost
In his boulevard
Of Memories
For now.
When it’s over
It’s over.
A breath…exhaled.
Note completed.
Moments lived.
Conversations done.
Expression exhibited.
Nothing to hold
Nothing left to complete
Moved On.
No……..
Lingering Thoughts.
