Old Habits and Other Things

1
Because new books were expensive,
He had taken to buying old ones,
picking his way between the heaps
on the Sunday pavement-
One hand clutching mine.

And I,
Ever ready to please,
Would shriek in triumph,
when I spied the familiar alphabets
of his favourite author
on the cover of some accidental tome.

Every evening out,
would end with a tryst
at the Malabar Lodge-
A greasy Dosa and that forbidden
half cup
of Adult Coffee.

2
Our house being a small one,
Always had that cluttered look,
With books
(old, torn and coming apart)
on every conceivable chair-
Guests stood uneasily
As my mother, grumbling,
Cleared the sofa for them to sit on.
After their departure, she railed,
“They are never kept in their proper place”.

3
My father had this habit
of reading a different book
in each room
and then forgetting-
what he had read.
So all the books though read
remained strangely also unread.

4
With passing years our tastes changed.
He stayed with the Eminent Victorians,
The Lodge was demolished.
Pornography began to crowd those heaps.
Long after he stopped buying,
(Grand children kept him away from reading)
The habit stayed with me.
I went from old books
to old furniture,
old bicycles----

5
My wife, more understanding,
planned a Den for our new flat,
To host those dusty books
which she knew,
came every evening in my bag.
(She also reads a few,
when infrequently, our tastes overlap)

But she could not understand,
When,
One evening, clearing my cupboard,
She found two black shirts
And three with brown stripes,
Why I had taken to buying
New clothes,
That look exactly like my old ones.

6
Now that even the grandchildren
have grown up
and he is more prosperous,
I see him occasionally smuggle
A brand new book or two
from his evening walks,
which, he has taken to reading,
Late, after every one has gone to bed
and the TV firmly switched off,
Even though my mother, these days reclusive,
does not care,
If the books are read or not,
Are kept in the proper place or not.
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