Frankfurt diaries

I am alone in the room. By chance. And it makes me happy no end.

I like the sounds my fingers on the keyboard make. Serious typing. Or random drumming when I am thinking. These sounds that I don’t share with anyone…

I like getting out and fixing myself a warm tea. Opening a bag of Tetley brought from India. The warm smell that wafts out of the mug when I dip my teabag. The swirling milky drops that change colour especially when I stir furiously. And the taste of home.

I like standing by my window. Hail in Frankfurt is as pretty as it can get, but only when you are inside. I sometimes open my window and throw my hands out. To catch the falling flakes. They are an illusion that disappear in your warm crisscrossed brown palm.

I like pulling my scarf into various knots around my neck. I like the way it flaps in the wind. I wonder if I will run behind it if it flies off. Knowing me, I would just let it go. I am tired of trying to catch things that run away.

I like standing near the crackling heater in the hall. The strong heat of which reminds me of the summers in Chennai.

I like watching my mobile. Willing it to ring. Most often just the time digits in the display change.

I am the lost jigsaw puzzle of a single piece set.

Mélange à trois

D- German. Always has a BASIC QUESTION. Pragmatic and ambivalent are his favourite words. As a matter of statistical importance, every 2 lines have either word. My personal favourites are when both occur in the same line. He can never understand why I suddenly break into a smile at a statement. I am not telling.

S- German. Always has a FUNNY STORY. Most often they are not funny. But I laugh anyway coz I like him.

I- Indian. I always have a DOUBT. I am the observer. But you already know me. So I will next myself.

H- French. Is always agreeable. She has a language problem. But saying yes in any language is easy. So she does that. But I like her. Especially when she looks at me over plates of French food and asks, "Yes?" Saying yes in any language is easy. 'Yes.'

M- Italian. Is always MELANCHOLY. He is like a suffering bird. In his long black coat that covers is almost cylindrical body, his hunched shoulders and his hands cupped behind him; he reminds me of a penguin. But beyond all this lies unexpected wit. He rarely talks, but when he does it takes me a moment and then I burst into peals of laughter. He never is too comfortable with his jokes understood. Unhappy Feet.