Best Time!!

Best Time!!

Sharp at 4.45 unfolds the pandemonium, a sitcom with the comrade of tide, waits for no man. The mathematics of life begins from the kitchen. The quantity in kilograms, liters, numbers, and the amateur ratios and units, raw and ripe spins over the head, and proclaims tyranny and revolt from the pressure cookers, onto the two gas burners, showing a sportsman spirit in the competitive whistling. The kitchen music revolves with the oozing of the fire bands, and the crackers often spill a fantabulous spill over the brims of the oven. The mixer drives, the grated coconut to a whirlpool of ecstasy, and melts the solid, with the sensuous touch. The drums of the cutting pan, enjoys the tuck-tuck of the knife, along with the knots of onion, with silent ghazals of melancholy. The snooze and sneeze with mustard and masala add spice to the whole event, followed by a whirlwind, a fast number of the shaft in the bottle of curd. The chil-chil of salt and sugar, played the music of food of love, and the sugar crystals marrying hot, moves to the in-laws where the shapes and sizes of the past ends for the new fusion. The wet and dry combinations displaced again and again with the pipe play on, play on. The whole poem, faster than slow, yet slower than f/past with all the visual, dominating yellow and white, with borders of green and red, auditory, muffled thuds and flute melodies, and the umpteen numbers of notes of varied pitch in between, tactile burns and wounds, the surge of air resulting from the olfactory sensations, or awakening of the spirit with the fresh brewed coffee, and finally the gustatory images aroused out of the feelings invoked in the reader of the composition. The reviews latest or later and the trial and error game of learning by doing, all complex equations by hearted with subtleties might eventually move to x or y axis . But the time machine, being a machine fails to respect the troubled panorama and the clock hands rush to reach the destiny of the circle of eternity. The narrow treads of water with adhesion adjusts the pace of the actor, thus the quickness baths in liters, brisk pace. Then the fluid rival, ordinarily rides with panting, along with the helpless super wo(man) strives, to seek, to get into  the time-engine, not to allow the next door neighbor to the next seat neighbor to conquer the personal space, on the wingless chariot of time. The other tactile calculator reminds, late, two minutes, reduce the call length, it is 7.30: thus the relationships caught in the spider web of time, words numbers, laughs counted, chats reduced, because it is time. The busy door keeper checks the speed, “slow slow, be fast, fast, fast, fast, fast.” Then the paper, bribes the connoisseur of time to return the passenger’s time; the conductor, supposed to conduct the whole concert , imitates the music of the check-bird-“ down fast, fast, fast, fast”. Sleep alarms my portion pending, awakening show-causes my portion yet to be. Passion rests, dating indolence, emptying the bottle of last drop of blood, ebbs, telling at your disposal. 8.40, this is the time to be free, in the midst of the bustling crowd, relax, on your feet, because the equation is unequal, so no rest space. 9.10, a visual feast of time attacks space and space retorts. Location-bus door. The sound of music comes to a new end in beginning. Thus the beginning begins with the end of end game, where the balance sheet tallies- no profit, loss nil. In time, on time, time over.

Aswathi.M.P