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Showing posts from March, 2015

Slow Death

There is a futility in loving you I know that you grow in lonely places in me And will eventually Kill me. There is a futility in loving you Like moss that grows in my village well Beautiful But treacherous, you see. There is futility in loving you Like arsenic Green and lifeless Someday I shall be. There is something about you Around you And in places and things and sounds and stains and smells of you, That softly weighs on my soul. It’s like a background score From a movie Time forgot. There is futility in loving you And as I watch myself softly sink I remember how you smelt Of Victoria's Secret And other crazy things.   First published in Indian Sahitya, Feb 2017 Issue on Contemporary Indian Poetry

Virus Attack

I know what it is I have lived through this before. It starts with a simple ping A rather unnoticed query Reaching out to the heart admin. As I fight to forget you You quickly upgrade yourself From a PUP to a malware And then to a virus that destroys Any semblance of control That I thought I had on my thoughts. What shall I do with you When every time I run away from you You crash my OS with your thoughts. Come hack me forever my dear And turn me into a zombie Forever playing programs That entertains you.

Ink That Blots

Come Fill my pen And flow through my little life Adding colors And forever staining What were white empty pages In waiting Endlessly For this fluid verse. Let's make love With these moments. Punctuate me So that I never run out of breath. Complete me So that there be meanings Stringed together Out of ordinary letters That etch a forever tale.

Special to Me

As special as every single snowflake Before it falls on to the other And becomes ice. As special as the first born After years of thankless Tyranny of time. As special As the memory Of our first kiss. As special As first love As the first rains The first house The first pay The first dance The lost ones The loved ones The dear Lord And This life With you in it.

With the Sun in my eyes

There was a turn up ahead on the road. A turn that I did not want to take. There are times when you don't want any further changes in your life at the moment. It was one such moment in my life in time. However, the concept of having a choice is rather overrated. If I had a choice, I would have become a deodar tree in the middle of Indian rain forests and lived quietly for a million years. Such choices are never available. There was a turn up ahead on the road. The turn required of me to move along its contours. The turn wished of me to succumb to it's long curves and stay away from its guarded rails. Missing the turn would have meant a dive into the setting sun. I can imagine how it would have felt, a white car trying to land on the setting sun. As the sun's saffron hue set the horizons on fire, I once again found myself on a road that leads to you.

That wife like thingy who lives with me!

I change my name when I am home. The person who cooks bakes cleans mops and goes about keeping a very clean house is not me. It is someone else living in me. Her name is Rajesh Kumari! It took years for the beautiful girls at Spencers to believe that I am single and I buy provisions for all of myself. In India, you cannot be 40 and single. Its too strange in too many ways for too many people. A typical Indian male is an infant forever on the verge of growing up, but never actually getting there. When the 27 year old is finally weaned away from his mom, he quickly learns to latch on to the young Indian wife who is supposed to suckle him till worlds end. Most men from my generation have rarely held a knife in their hands. Kitchen was always moms forte and then it was the wife's job. Most guys don't know how to fold a vest and the brief is something which is supposed to magically get cleaned and made available by the mom, or the thingy you call wife. If you show them a ridged gour

Just Passing Through

I have often been flagged down By random strangers looking for a ride.. Which way they would ask And I will tell them, I am just passing by. It's a long road I have traveled And with me on this journey Have traveled quite a few, These roads have been mostly kind And in moments of rare distress I have found strangers in my life, Kinder than the friends around. Don't honk too loud behind me I shall allow you a pass without a murmur I have been a rider on this road for long There is really no place I call myself a home Even as you hurry ahead Remember brother I am just passing through.

How high is high enough?

Would you like to have a bigger house, a bigger car and more money into your accounts? This is a question that has been thrown at me several times in the past. It is also a question upon which I have given many hours of thought. My name is Rajesh. It is a very common name in India. Already 2% of all men, if not more, will have this name. My other name is Kumar. A good 5% of population will share their second name with me. There is nothing in my name that forces me to believe that I am either better off or worse off than anyone else. However, when my grandma used to call my name, she made it sound like the best possible name in the universe. When my dad introduces me to his friends, and ads "my son" to my name, he makes it sound like no other name. When my sister or my cousins speak of me, they make my name sound quite like a la George Clooney. When my boss calls out my name, with a string of superlatives and expletives, he makes it sure that everyone need to be a

Stain my white shirt

Kiss me everywhere Stain my whites Let there be pink creases on my arms And let the glitter flakes raise a sparkle. When I walk into the night tonight Let there be disco lights all around. I pray for people to stop and stare And with a scandalous tch! tch! Look at me and think of you. Go on Princess Paint me in all your hues.