Skip to main content


Every Flood... Everywhere

"Every flood, every where, leaves memories on the land from which it recedes. The trees that survived would add a wider ring to its memory, and with frost rings, light rings, and false rings, as well as missing and narrow rings, the flood would be just another ring of a memory in a tree. What do WE do?  Where do we store all our love or the lack of it?  How do we record our floods and our droughts and our famines... and with you not around, what do I do?"
Recent posts

Our Kind of Music

Together We might never dissolve fully Into each other But we will flow my love Like rivulets through paths untrodden And we shall make music Like pebbles rolling And water flowing And birds calling There are all kinds of music And such shall be ours.


Come Let us slice into each other With fine surgical precision You slash me here I slash you there And then When the storm is done I will patch you up And you tuck me up You bring the bucket I the mop the blood And together we will cleanse Our ancient hurts Our guilts And our fears  Until we start again And over a cup of coffee You tell me  My dear Just how much you love me And I shall tell you Just how much I love you.


Growing up, I would throw small pebbles across placid water bodies and watch them bounce and skate over the shimmering surface. If I had competition, we would count the bounces and both the winner and loser will nurse a sore shoulder by evening. Neither the lake, nor the pebbles cared, and the universe, like a quantum experiment, was both the observer and the observed. Or maybe we were being played and they were the audience. To all the pebbles and the lakes that survive...thank you for that space... in time.

Clowns in a Circus

The circus came to town I could see the posters of acrobats and hippos and giant wheels On shaky ancient auto- rikshaws Driven by incorrigibly happy Poor people. For some years now, I have felt like the joker  Looking at a gallery full of fools Wanting to believe That what they see And live Is not sheer drudgery  But liquid entertainment.  I think Joaquin Phoenix fucked my world view Forever.  And before that, there was the Matrix Or even, Joseph Heller Or maybe it was Gabriel Garcia Marquez  Or even The Bhagwan who declared In his infinite wisdom That the infinity of our souls  And the divinity of our beings Are sullen By the circus  Of life.


Every now and then Through unguarded moments and glances She would give me a peak into her soul   Her panic room doors were steel And over the years Every new scar of hers was reinforced With new layers of Kevlar  And when she felt like laughing aloud  She would guard her mouth With her beautiful little hands So that I would not see That the little girl living within Could still laugh... and cry. 

Our Very Own Mountain

I remember a moment from our childhood,  when I and my sister tried to lift papa by his arms.  We might have been really young because it felt like moving a mountain...and we were happy that our dad was like a mountain.  Unshakable and towering! Early in the morning,  before getting ready to take a fight back to town, I laid down next to him and wrapped my arms and legs around him. The flu had run him down. He was tired and barely speaking. Our lion was unwell. He ran his fingers through my arm, caressing them tenderly,  his very own skin... on me. He stopped at where I had burnt myself recently and circled the healing wound with his fingers. He drew a long sigh, as if he was singed too. A little later, he seemed to struggle with the weight of my legs on him. I gently moved my legs off him. And I could feel him breathe easier. It is just a flu,  my mind told me,  but my heart would not stop crying. I felt like all Sons and Daughters everywhere...I could see the future and I could