two sleepy people

true that

dusk

Autumn in the streets. Drizzle blurs the sky. Coffee shop. A cigarette. Balcony. An alley. Black and white photos. Fairy lights blush. Under the balcony. Old men at backgammon. A trio. Trumpet, double bass, violin. I Only Have Eyes For You. New parents. Slow dance. Piazza. Smell of lamb. Smell of rain. Song of starlings. Preparing to roost.

monkton

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pride

Every once in a while, this topic sporadically surfaces. What did you want to be when you grew up. When you were wee and the grown-ups would probe. Model answers would always be the same. A doctor. A teacher. A lawyer(seriously?). An astronaut. A scientist. Prime minister.

Me. I went through quite a number of phases. With each, I yearned a different job. A marine biologist. A chef. An artist. A pilot(though I never thought I’d ever be clever enough). A retiree. An American Gladiator. But of all my grandest ambitions, one stood out the most. I wholeheartedly wanted to be a grass-cutter. Yes, the Indian man with kerosene strapped to his back.

The bright coveralls. The sleek balaclava. The tinted goggles. The razor-sharp synthetic gut. And of course, THE rocket-pack. Nothing and no one could stand in my way. I honestly thought I would look cool and make the world a better place. Parks. Gardens. Football fields. Sidewalks. I would give them life. And by doing so, give life to humanity as well. I’d be a superhero.

Interesting what goes on in the right side of little coconuts.

Today, I’m not sure grass-cutters look too awesome anymore. But what I do know, is that they make my world a better place. You need not a Ph.D for the job. You need not marketing or interpersonal skills for the job. Blast it, you don’t even need a sprinkle of talent. Probably just a good back and perhaps 20/70 vision. Yet don’t you think the job makes much sense?

The goal is simple: Make long blades short. Simple as pie.

No need for arguments. Stress. Lawsuits. Politics. War. The beryl blades won’t decide to grow back once you turn your back. Neither would they talk back at you or stab your back or sue you or make you work overtime. Present the landscape and call it a day. And the satisfaction of a job well done is true. How many of us can say the same after a hard day’s work.

Still, it is not a job many would take up. Not even notice, I reckon. Shouldn’t we then have all the more regard for them? I like to think of grass-cutters as humble heroes who make the world a better place. Waddle waddling on. Even if it means doing so a blade at a time.

deja vu

“What” and “If” are two words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life.