All things old and chucked away

Do you remember the last time you cleaned a comb ?
When i was a kid my mom used to make me clean all the household combs every sunday. I used to enjoy the task immensely and felt quite responsible and all thinking that the family's hair hygiene rested on my little shoulders. Quite a lot of time was spent in dipping the combs in soap solution and then using an old toothbrush to clean each comb meticulously.They were then left to dry in the sun and I would smile proudly at the bright and shiny ,as good as new things.

I now buy a new comb everytime the current one gets reasonably dirty. There are  hardly any old toothbrushes around.
They are chucked into the dustbin right next to pens with used refills, old batteries,unwanted post and all that is deemed useless on that particular day.
When was the last time you bought pen refills? 
On one of my rare visits to the tailors recently, I overheard one of the other customers asking him for the leftover kapda. Maybe I was imagining things but I had a feeling that he was as bemused as I was at this request.
My grandma used to make pretty things out of all the rags in the house.I now realize it was more than a hobby.
My uncle used to make these little notebooks of  wedding invites and all other unused paper for grocery lists,things to do and all that. I buy mine at crosswords. The fancy ones which say organic or recycled paper. They look cute in the display and on my fridge too;after all grocery lists should look pretty i tell myself. I guess they make the dustbins look pretty too at the end of the day.

In this age of new found prosperity and our race to be westernized ,we seem to have lost our sense of preservation. I think only when the west goes big on recycling,we will go back to how things used to be?
But where is the time I ask myself; or the space ? Hmm i guess that is material for some other post some other day...

Next Time...

I love the gloominess which lurks around this time of the year.
The dark clouds hovering around ominously...They speak of distant memories.
Remind me of all the fun had in the rain;In another time and another place.
And then almost on cue, it Rains..
Next time, I tell myself.
I love the calm that ensues after. It speaks volumes, through the occasional tip tap.
I love the little streams making their way through feverishly;
They seem to have a purpose;a meaning.
Make me wonder why I did not get out there...
 Next time, I tell myself.
I love the mud that sticks on the soles of my shoes and  finds it's way into my life.
Just like the water that has seeped through the window sills.
Reminding me of things that could have been...
Next time for sure,I tell myself.

The Blue Boots

There they lay on the window still,
a little dusty, a little beat.
Shoved into the corner, for a rainy day;
Who knew what tales they were aching to tell.

Step into them I wanted to,
Will on a rainy day I told myself.
Shoved them into the corners of my mind,
there they lay safe.

Wear them when you can make the most of them,
said my friend.That is the wise way.
You will need them one day for sure.
Till then, they need to be put away.

That day was yesterday my love,
said the old lady with the white face.
So many rains and so many suns,
you seemed to have missed them in all the rush.

Rains they come and go, I said.
This though, I need to get done today.
Oh if only you could wear them just once,she said.
You would know what fun they entail.

There is nothing to fear. she said.
All they need is a little getting wet.

Stepped into them , I did.
Those Blue boots they just fit.
Everything just fell into place,
Everyday is now a rainy day.