Bubblegum Days

You were part of my
bubblegum days.

I watched
and worshipped
from afar
as you played your guitar.
Tomcat,
street smart,
bitches all around.

“Stay away from him,”
the elders would wag fingers
and tongues.
But I’d watch
and worship
from afar.
I so wanted
to be your bad girl.

That summer,
blowing bubbles
on my gum,
I grew boobs
just for you.
I secretly read
the Kamasutra,
bought red lipstick
and practiced kissing
on my hand.
I so wanted
to be your girl,
your bad girl.
But instead,
I’d watch
and worship
from afar.

You’ll never know
how much I educated myself
just for you.
Hendrix, Jethro, Floyd
and Marley,
I grew to love,
because of you.
I chewed gum,
bunked Rabindrasangeet classes
and learnt the guitar instead.
I secretly read
the Kamasutra,
bought red lipstick
and practiced kissing
on my hand.

At night,
my head upon my pillow,
my hand upon a breast,
I’d hear you playing
between my eyes
and so I’d dance
on your guitar strings.

I bought red lipstick
and practiced kissing
on my hand.

Chewing bubblegum
all the while,
I watched
and secretly worshipped
from afar.

Even today,
whenever I smell
strawberry, cherry
or juicy fruit,
my lips hanker for a kiss.
I hear those chords
upon my heartstrings
and I think about
when I bought my first
and only red lipstick,
when I watched
and worshipped you
from afar.

My bubblegum days.
My ‘You’ days.
When I watched
and worshipped
from afar.