The New Year

The poetry of the new year is problematically punctual. An impeccable guest who arrives on time when you are running frantically behind schedule. Catching you precisely at that awkward stage of housecleaning when the contents of closet and cupboard are strewn across the room and there is no sensible place left to sit down. No, you haven’t had a chance to change the guest room towels, your clothes or your habits. It is at this stage that you begin to stammer out apologies and resolutions. The visitor fixes you with a gaze that breaks like dawn over your clutter and chagrin. “What a beautiful life,” murmurs your guest, pressing an oddly shaped package into your hands. Gladness rises in the heart like a cloud of hummingbirds. Always the same, unpredictable, utterly original gift. You consider the paradox of that as you hold it between your palms. Like freshly kneaded dough: this brand new day.

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2 responses to “The New Year

  • Deepa Mardolkar

    This is a beautiful, beautiful blog. Came here via a link to ‘a certain South Indian childhood’, and was intrigued by how familiar it felt to someone with no links to Tamland – beautifully captured, incredibly true. Will be back for more.

  • vaishali

    pavithra pls tell us something more about yrself. yr profile. likes. favbooks movies music
    travels.

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