Skip to main content

Whispers and Words #3 | The Trailing Traffic

***
The meter is stuck.
I'm traveling miles
Still not moving ahead.

The brakes don't work.
A speed breaker sends me flying
Into a vault of old memories.

I had come of age.
So I had to give up
My fear of the road.

Travelling all the roads together,
The thrill of the ride
Eventually replaced the fear.

Then, without noticing,
The license plate wore out and
The gentle ride turned bumpy.

The rearview mirrors droop low now,
No longer reflecting her face,
Just the trailing traffic.

***

This poem is dedicated to the scooty I grew up with. Like everything else in life, it was once new and bursting with energy. Its condition has worsened now, not very different from human relationships.


Have you had a similar experience?
Leave your thoughts in the comments below.



Labels:

Comments

  1. Kashish rizwi8:16 PM, June 22, 2025

    I have no words to describe how this poetry touched my heart... it instantly reminded me of my Abba’s first bike – the Super Splendor. It's been over 20 years, but that bike still holds a piece of my childhood, a piece of my soul. You won’t understand the feeling unless you’ve lived it… that bike wasn’t just a vehicle, it was an emotion – a companion of our journey, our laughter, and even our little accidents.

    I still remember how I used to sit on the fuel tank while Abba took me to school. My teachers used to lovingly tease me, calling me “tanki wali beti.” I felt special. It was our little ritual — the tank, my throne, and Abba, my superhero. That bike had magic. The market rides, the bumpy shortcuts, the street-side snacks — it was more than a ride, it was a memory machine.

    One memory that makes me laugh even today — once we fell into a coal dump while riding. My little sister was just 4 years old and was sleeping in front. She woke up covered in coal, from head to toe — like a little black ghost! But surprisingly, no one got hurt. Instead, we all laughed like crazy. That bike had the power to turn even accidents into joy.

    And the most beautiful part? My Abba had written my name — *Kashish* — on the bike. Maybe because I was his favourite child... or maybe because I was just always with him. That small gesture made me feel like the princess of his world. That bike didn’t just carry us, it carried love, memories, and childhood dreams.

    Even today, when I close my eyes, I can feel the wind on my face, the smell of petrol, and the warmth of Abba’s back as I held him tight. That bike… it wasn’t just metal and wheels. It was love in motion.



    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

LIFE AND LIES #57 | Neil Nitin Mukesh (#2)

"Krishna is a married man but he's always revered along with Radha, his lover. What if... say Rukmani, said to Krishna one day, that she'd rather be Radha?"  Nitin uttered his thought out loud then looked around the room. While the others had stopped long back, Neil was pouring himself another drink. Only he could drink so much on a Sunday night, because unlike the others, his Monday had been declared a Bank holiday. It was Mukesh who was sober enough to reply to his question. "Radha spent her years in sadness longing for Krishna. Rukmani would not want to be in her place." "What if...'' smiled Nitin. He always placed the actual question he wanted to ask as the second question. "One day, after reading my work, my wife says to me that she'd rather be one of the women I write about so passionately." "The women you choose to write about are also inherently sad," Mukesh was quick with a reply. "Ask your wife then, would ...
Post a Comment
Read more

LIFE AND LIES #85 | By God's Grace

Gaumukh Tapovan Trek -  Part 3 of 3 Click to read Gaumukh Tapovan Trek - Part 1 of 3: The Bhagirathi Sisters Click to read Gaumukh Tapovan Trek - Part 2 of 3: A Hearty Submission "Did you sully my good name again to justify your coming here?" "The mountain is named after you. It wasn't that long a shot." "Why can't you stay in the city like a normal person? Plan your life ahead. Get married, have kids, and so on." "When I was a kid, we had this clay modelling class where the teacher expected us to combine earth and water to build statues of God. I always ended up with a dried lump of clay." "That's your take on marriage? Doesn't science tell you that life arose from a mixture of earth and water? Nature gave that a chance. Why can't you?" "Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to?" "I know almost everything. That doesn't mean I can't delight myself with a conversation now a...
Post a Comment
Read more

Whispers and Words #22 | The Red Letterbox

A day before my vacation came to an end, while I readied my luggage, already occupied mostly with the snacks prepared by my mother, my father had only one thing to add - a stack of postcards, along with an instruction to drop one in the letterbox every week, during my time in school. I used to be a dutiful son in my childhood days. I did as I was asked. Every Sunday evening, I took a stroll on my own, carrying a written postcard. Where the road from the hostel turned towards our classrooms, there was a huge tree, and attached to its massive trunk was a red letterbox. It was cylindrical and had two openings at the front side. The top opening had a flap that swiveled back on a gentle push, allowing me to drop the postcard. The bottom opening had a small door with a tiny lock on it. There was a certain kind of mystery associated with the entire thing - from the moment the postcard dropped with a hollow sound in the box to the moment it was delivered to my home. I never got to see the post...
1 comment
Read more