Sometimes you have got to do it yourself.

I planted my cane-wood chair out in the backyard. It was a starry night. No moon. Perfect. Just the way I wanted it. It is hard to have such a night in the city. I was delighted.

I run back to the kitchen to fetch my bowl of soup and a cup of herbal tea. Also, the fresh salad I just got done. My Kindle. And portable lamp shade with the faintest light I have in my house.

And now I am, ready in my most comfortable chair, ever. Sippin on good stuff and reading good stuff. Aah this life! What a start to a weekend. Friday nights don’t get better than this.

And what felt like just a few minutes of reading under the stars, turned out to be a joyride of five long hours, unknown to my consciousness. It has happened before too. I wasn’t surprised. I press “Home” on Kindle to look at the time. And smile to myself. Instantly wondering how beautiful of a world it is. How beautiful of a body this is. That allows us to pendulum back and forth between reality of this backyard and the grim city world of the book I was in. I ponder about how grateful I am about this life and the body I am living it through.

In a while, with rituals of before the bedtime, I brush, journal and pray and retire to bed. Mechanical alarm clock wound. Ready to wake up at 6 the next morning for a short cycling ride around the city. Saturday mornings are cycling mornings.

I sleep in peace.

I wake up the next morning. The ride through the city felt more like a fresh sweet spring breeze than the usual midnight cold. They’re always fun mornings. Get back home and finish my workout, bathe, breakfast and meditate. Work for 6 hours straight. Realise that it’s already supper time and start prepping the meal. Today it’s corn soup and grilled sandwiches topped with dried pineapples. Half an hour of country radio playing on the kitchen table speakers and the meal is prepped.

Let’s repeat the delight of last night. I grab the soup bowl and sadwiches in the plate and some fresh lemonade to go with it.

And as I place the delicious food on the table outside in the backyard. I look at the sky. Dull as fuck.

Clouds covering the whole sky. Not an inch of sky visible. I’m sending Trump the notice about the changing weather. I’m kidding, he probably would ignore it like the rest of the environmental problems.

I don’t like how the stars are not visible tonight. They’re kinda spoiling my weekend here. I’m out here with my happy agenda to read under the beautiful sky and there is this bunch of clouds that’s ruining it for me. My mind doesn’t like it. At all.

I sit in the canewood chair. Have the soup. Sandwiches. And keep staring at the sky, sippin’ on the lemonade. And something struck me.

Alice In Wonderland.

If you don’t like how the flowers look, paint ‘em!

I go around the house. Garage door, open, pickup art supplies, close door. And now I am sitting amidst the rainbow of colours that smell ecstatic and feel luscious. They’re thick and ready to be used.

I pick up a paintbrush. A thick one. Pour the black colour in the pallette. Dip the brush in it. It’s soaked in dark black now. I wipe the excess off the brush against the edges of the pallete.

And I start painting the sky.

Cloud by cloud. Every gray shadow. Every silver lining. Every inch of it. I’m using my kitchen stool to reach the height. I’m now all done with black. The sky is pitch black now. Yaaay! Now I pour some white color in the palette. This is the sparkly white. I like that. I get a smaller brush this time and paint small tiny stars. Lots. Lots. Lots of them.

Aaah. Now it’s perfect. More than perfect. It’s celestial. I’ve made myself a night sky that I can read under now. I place the stool back in the kitchen.

Back to the favorite chair. Kindle. More lemonade. Another couple of hours pass by like a whiff.

Bed-routine done now. Alarm clock wound. And I’m off to the clouds.


Morning. Six. Alarm clock. It’s Saturday! Yaay! Cycling Day!


Visit Kalpesh at

Kalpesh is a writer. Writes code & poems and everything in between. Helps people write letters at
Kalpesh is a writer. Writes code & poems and everything in between. Helps people write letters at

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