At the level-cross

Sitting in a car
Waiting for the train to come
Waiting for the train to go
To come away from somewhere
And to go away to some-other-where.

Why do I wait
When it does not concern me.
Of what probability is the chance
That therein will be someone I knew once.
Why does the hour glass always tilt
Midways and stop
So that time would come along
And sit besides me
And wait
For the train from somewhere
To go some-other-where.13-11-2003

From Life in a Multiverse

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Hush

You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.

Stardust

All this time That has now gone by Is all in here All at once Together Einstein says That time lives on Eternally in the present Scattered about Across a universe of memories We We are not meant to live in the shadows We are Stardust We burn bright as Stars And then we are dust ...

Complex Things

On a video call with Mom, I told her that I am making Sambhar, something that never really turns out the way I wish it would. I am accustomed to having Mom's version of the Sambhar since childhood. It's taste is imprinted in places where I have no access to. The tongue knows when something is off. Sambhar is a complex dish. It is not like a plum cake or a bread, or even Avial, where, eventually, the grated coconut and coconut oil evens out all the other tastes and brings them to a consensus. Sambhar is complex. The ladies fingers have to be slightly sauteed, else they disintegrate into the ocean that is Sambhar, and you can see that they existed once in the little seeds twinkling here and there. The Drum Sticks have to be just right, else they stand out. Drum sticks have to bend to the will of the greater cause that is Sambhar, but not break. Then there is the coriander powder and the Fenugreek Powder, and the asafoetida chunks that should melt entirely, else they raise hell in

Works of RK

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