Feet

My feet give me away

Always. 

I desire dainty little feet

With quaint little toenails

Polished in some pastel hue 

Cut, filed & polished

Er, what I have

Is the exact antithesis 

Dusty dark skin

Unforgiving blue green veins

And rough cracked heels

Too big, furthest from delicate

My feet take me from A to B

That I owe them

And also the fact that 

My feet let me perambulate 

Without agenda

Which is undoubtedly the most precious 

However though

Nothing contains the fact that

They're not how they're supposed to be

Subtle, fair, creamy and pastel

Not that I don't moisturise

Or use foot cream of random kinds

But nothing seems to work it

My feet give me away

They are exactly like my insides

Torn up, exhausted, out of place.

Ugly, dried up and unhealable 

No matter how much I hide,

They show.

Fog

It was the nimble winter of early November. The morning air was heavy with fog. She had draped a dupatta over shoulders for the cold and was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt - quietly sipping her tea when a kid from corridor waved at her. It was a Saturday but to the dismay of late risers, breakfast at the canteen ran out sooner than weekdays. She had been fortunate enough to have had two servings of pav bhaji and was in no mood of relinquishing her cup unfinished. But the waving continued. She left her seat at the table and walked out with the cup still in her hands. It seemed she had a visitor. 

She didn't think she was supposed to have any. Surprised, she followed the kid - the security guard's son - into the reception. The guard smiled and wished her good morning. She smiled back, confused. The guard pointed at the road in front of the hostel, pointing far away. She couldn't make out a thing - until she saw a silhouette. She walked out half curious, half knowing who he was. She was gasping heavily inside and was staunchly able to hide all emotion, on the outside. 

For a second, she felt she couldn't breathe, and her temples were hot. Then her eyes were moist, and she was also angry - it had taken him so long. For a moment, in there, she was scared, so utterly petrified of him - and of herself. So many possibilities open up when they stand next to each other - and the choice they make decides everything. The minute following this one would be so freakishly consequential for her that she thought she would faint and create a scene. But she was together - all her limbs intact, hair hurriedly tied into a ponytail, spectacles tucked into her t-shirt, feet taking long steps, fingers holding onto the cup which was filled to the brim with tea - which was too sweet - too dilute - boiled for far less a duration than she liked - but this was all she got. She was regretting that tea and walking - wondering why he stood so far. Was he moving further away? Wondering what his intentions were - did he take the conversation of last night a trifle more seriously than she meant it at? Slowly the fog parted, and her face eased into a smile. 

He was chuckling like she had cracked a hilarious joke, and he was no longer able to keep it within. He raised his eyebrows and asked 

'What's up?' 

'You tell me.' She asked him, right back.