A crayon found in my bag,
Gleefully it lay, hiding beneath the rag.
The color was oh! so Yellow
One look at it made me instantly mellow.
Imagined I the angry sun behind the cloud
And the fire crackers that made such loud sound.
A tiny dot of sandalwood, on the forehead of a widow
Or, a polka dress worn by the girl who is Anglo.
Oh these fifty shades of yellow.
Such promise they make for a shiny tomorrow.
It is nice to wake up early in the morning. Apart from the joy of being welcomed by the first rays of the sun and the birds who sing for you, it gives you the opportunity to doctor to the few deserving tasks that have been rotting in your to-do list. This morning gave me a similar opportunity and I utilized it by auditing my laptop bag. Ah my laptop bag! The black world of heaviness, finding its solace in resting its arms on my shoulder. Within it are wires of burden, white, black and grey. And there also, rest a matte rectangle, which promises me my bread and butter. They are the life of this bag it seems. Over the year, the bag loaded itself with junk, Japanese papers, Italian coins, made in China pencils that work no more and many local things it came across for taste, lord alone knows. So you see, a cleaning diet was needed and I put it in my list of To-Dos waiting for 24 hours to prove less stingier. My prayers were finally answered, when this morning, I woke before the cook coo started over.
From my bag, I gathered lots of useless papers and papers which had importance once. There were stray coins which united to form Rs. 20/- An old chap stick aged to expiry, some lost secrets, a proof of a bus ride once taken. There I found my missing driving license and beneath a rag called hanky, I found gleefully lying, was a crayon!
Who put it in there? It wasn't me for sure. The mischievous nephew of mine is who I think of. Hid it maybe from my son, his brother or, our dog who loves to color.
It was amazing to find this yellow crayon there. It bought back memories of childhood. What joy it was to write with them on the wall, before mum came yelling and my brother and I ran towards, the so called water fall. How it brightened a blank sheet and gave life to anything that fell at its feet? I remember the excitement children our generation got when the birthday gift was a pack of crayon. The wax pens with a waxy dress, came is such adorable color. Crayons always made me want to eat them all up. Wonder why I compromised, stopping at just scrapping them up with my tooth?
What memories can a sole crayon get?
