My Hands

They feel weird. I don't know what to do with them anymore.

It was perfectly fine a few months ago. They never asserted their existence, but were always there whenever I needed them. They were there to hold a pen as I screwed yet another exam, to hold a muffin while I ate it, to hold a bat as I got bowled over on the very first ball. Even when seemingly I was doing nothing but walking, they were always there beside me subtly adding to the balance.

They even saved my life that day as I hung outside the door of a female compartment holding on to the bars of the train door for over two hours in the dead of the night.

It all started with the winter. The frigid cold here forces one to keep ones hands inside the pockets. Now, after doing that for over 4 months, with the cold giving way to warm sunshine they simply don't know what to do.

They search for a pocket, but don't find the once familiar jacket. From the perspective of a third person, it must be pretty interesting. Imagine the pair of hands going towards the sides of one's belly, and after a slight hesitation, sliding inwards and downwards, not knowing what to do.

A tshirt or a shirt doesn't have pockets down at the sides where a jacket normally has and hence, I tuck them into the pockets of my trousers. But the weather is warm now, and that is not a very comfortable posture to walk anyway. So out they come. Then suddenly I feel the presence of these two appendages hanging from my shoulders, not kowing where to go, and what to do, still searching for pockets.