Saturday, 5 August 2017

A Lost Monsoon

The "new" sheds its charm
Amateurish and incomplete
And stoops down-
As if in defeat-
To the peerless grace and completeness
Of what was-
Of the beauty in cracked walls and leaking roofs
And wrinkled hands and damp floors-
Of an old rain that was a unique contrast;
Days when the droplets poured into our hearts
And a warmth spread in our souls-
As if proving to be a visual oxymoron-

Today, the rain sends chills down the spine;
Forming a frozen void within,
Searching in vain,
For that lost solace,
The cuddling hands
And that serene face
That are now stiff and pale
And numb and cold-
Indifferent and invisible
With tears burnt
And emotions buried-
Dissolved in the monsoon.

Wednesday, 10 May 2017

Morning rains

These morning rains
Remind me
Of musings
I once thought and forgot;

The moist earth
Hits the Rewind
And replays the things
I once smelt and felt...

Tiny water droplets
Give away to the breeze
Transforming their state
With cold and absolute ease...

Courtyards that flaunted intricate patterns yesterday
Now hold obscured kolams-
Struggling to retain their skeletal forms-
As they reluctantly disassociate
From their connecting dots.

As little canvas shoes trot on
The wet roads
Swept clean by the overnight downpour;
I see myself in the tiny kid
That whines at the school bus
And sighs at his heavy bag.

The shoulders didn't know.
The baggage has just started.

Wednesday, 8 March 2017

Women's Day

The alarm that never snoozes
Alarms at the hullabaloo
On the day
Earmarked for its mistress.

The newspaper winks
And flaunts the glossy cover page
Even as it gulps down the fearful bulletins
Within its innermost columns.

Hashtags preaching boldness and change
Flood the virtual world
Drowning the million disturbing voices
Beneath its surge.

And finally, as “she” braves the stares
And defies the norms
And knocks down the hundred question marks
A raised eyebrow wishes her;
“Happy Women’s Day”.

Wednesday, 22 February 2017

The adaptation anomaly

Sometimes it just creeps in

The adaptation anomaly-
Those “literally-fed-up-with-all-this” moments
When we simply cannot sync with the ambience-
And grow sick of all the complications in the air-
And wonder if the nomenclature of those around
Be reworked as “sophisticated machinery”…
When we forgot the last time we interacted with people-
Real, simple ones sans adjectives-
And that’s when we involuntarily move the curtains of our dusty window
To catch a glimpse of a view that we already knew by heart-
But this day, that view has got a different shade-
As if each thing outside the window-
Is finally letting out a story that it held back for so long-
Stories told in a language comprehensible at these exceptional moments alone…
And then when we come back to our (in) sanity-
The bustle looks meaningful for the first time
And it suddenly dawns upon us-
That each of these machinery has a unique story for itself-
That makes them apparently so dense-so complex-
Humans, at last.
Certain exceptions are beautiful in a way that they deviate us to new spheres altogether...
Things that we would never have explored but for this strange incompatibility…


Monday, 6 February 2017

The balance.

For her,
They were rare visitors…
Those transient feel-good moments.
The moments that slowly engulfed part of herself…
The coffee mug steaming with caffeine,
The morning sunshine,
And the brisk rustle of a fresh newspaper.

Amused at the sudden and unexpected interstice in her otherwise jam packed schedule, she sat down on the balcony and took a long sip of her coffee; as if to savor to the highest altitude, a forgotten delicacy.

Laying the newspaper aside, she stared at the sun peeping through the leaves of the jamun tree. The leaves that were once very familiar to her, looked strange and outlandish. She let the warmth of the rays fall on her face and closed her eyes to relish the ephemeral experience.

“Can’t you see that I’m yet to submit my thesis? I have just started… ”
“But, beta, you have to accept certain norms of the society…You know how much…………..”
She didn’t feel the need to lend her eyes to the rest of the conversation.
She already knew it by heart.
Her earlobes pounded with acquaintance at the religiously repeated epithets.
But she knew that this day was different.
She knew that today she had to give an answer; however much she tried to resist.
And in the consolidated list of things that she couldn’t do, she never forgot to note down her reluctance to say “No”.

She went into her study, with an urge to find solace in her diary. Those pages were ready to embrace the stained ink. Though they appeared to loathe it, they secretly looked forward to those days. They somehow felt the confluence of tears and ink made them look beautiful.

Today, I’m eccentrically striking off my unfulfilled wish list;
Without a tinge of respect to the soul that cherished them.
I knock off each fear that creeps in
And brush aside all the ifs and buts and what ifs
I’m populating my mind with the courage
To emotionally prepare myself-
For the deluge that is-
For a lifelong battle with my soul.

So that I could struggle with myself with grace and elan
And customize a new self
And to justify to myself why everyone is right
And why this decision is right
And convince myself of all the pros and dump the cons
And let go off surprisingly with absolute ease
All the dreams that I lived upon…
Forget once for all, the person I strived to be,
And fake a smile, and build a plastic heart.

I do not know where this leads me
May be another uncertainty
By the time I finish dumping my real self
May be I’ll know that all these efforts have gone with the wind.
All in vain.

And I may try to put back to place; the pieces of my old self
And try to slowly shatter this new wax statue…
But where do I dispose off this customized version of mine?
Their remnants will still lurk within me
And occupy the vacant spaces where my original self has got creased off
And it'll all be a mess
The new dreams and old dreams
The two versions of myself
Fake "me" and the real "me"
And they’ll fight
None will succeed
They’ll keep fighting relentlessly…
Will I be able to strike a balance?

She opened her eyes with a jerk.
Her heart was still throbbing with the impact of the shudder.
“What happened?”
“I cannot find my Maths homework notebook...”
“It’s in your second drawer. Wait. I’m coming. ”

The sun kept peeping through the leaves. And the unfinished coffee. And the folded newspaper. The rays of sunshine tried hard to catch a glimpse of her through the window curtains, envying at the way she seamlessly juggled her persona.

Saturday, 4 February 2017


Knight smirked;
"Oops" said the proud father.
Lost the game; won the Queen.

Saturday, 28 January 2017


"Share the things you like", he remarked; apportioning the chocolate cake.
Years later, she taught him how to share and like on facebook.


"Excuse me?"
The woman with salt and pepper hair uttered mechanically as she bumped into the boy next door...
"Hey Aunty! Didn't recognise me? "
She couldn't figure out a reply.
She wondered if they had met or missed each other for ages now.



You dribble through my soul,
Warming my heart;
Washing off the little stains with those brown addictive drops
As if to wipe the canvas clean for the day...

Sunday, 15 January 2017

The train

Monday morning
As the train shunts forward
I startle with a jerk within myself
And I wave;
At those eyes
That woke up too early
And those hands that packed affection in my tiffin...
As the blurred image gradually diminishes from my sight...
My eyes eagerly search in vain;
As if to retrieve the remnants of my soul...
Feeling incomplete;
I start waiting for Friday;
To go back
And get encompassed
Within those beautiful walls of familiarity...
Of reprimanding
Of quarrels
Of belongingness
Of life real;
Of the truth called Home.

Wednesday, 11 January 2017


"I want to fly!"
The little one exclaimed, looking at the aeroplane soaring high...
Her crutches frowned;
The destiny that paralysed her limbs couldn't buckle her wings...


"I envy her luck..."
She eavesdropped her own testimonial.
Meanwhile, she recalled a different story.
A story of wet pillows, smudged mascaras and crushed papers beneath her study.

At the signal#3

"Madam, flowers?"
A thin hand extended a jasmine string through the car window at the traffic signal.
"Roll the glass down".
Two pairs of eyes battled the saline fluid.

The Resolution#2

Second day of the year;
As she snoozed the alarm again;
The sticky on the wall winked
At the pendulum that swung sheepishly.

Tuesday, 3 January 2017

New Year 2017#1

This year, I'll not fake a smile.
"Say cheese" said the selfie expert.
And Instagram gulped another perfect shot.

A Simple Message...

A Simple Message...