Works of RK

Raj, does heaven and hell exist? Yes Princess, it does. What is this between Hell and Fire? Why is hell always fiery? No idea baby, probably something to do with pain. I have heard that burns cause maximum pain. But Raj, how will you burn if you have no body, you are dead right? Hmm, good one. I have no answers Princess. Ok. Do you remember the time you were having this fling with that girl from office? Why bring it up now baby? No, I am just asking. Do you remember? I do. I used to be so jealous, my heart was a smouldering cinder. Do you understand what I mean? Yes baby. It was like hell for you. I love you Raj. So do I baby. Now you guess what I am thinking.... This is heaven Princess. Dog you are Raj. Bhou Bhou Princess.

If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.

I go out into life each day I do on my masks, and I play Choose of me from the ones you like I am an actor, My worlds rarely collide.

Has anyone ever told you that you are almost impossible to manage? That you are grossly impossible of acting as if you had one normal cell in your body? You never tell me that you love me, you never wish me on my birthday and you never have time to take me out!! When was the last time you liked me on FB?, never! I have never heard you speak a gentle word to any adult. The only thing you are good at is your work and playing ghoda with the neighbors kids. Uff! Do you know how frustrating all this is to me? You should have been in Police. You don't have a heart. Why am I wasting my time, you are beyond listening as well! Are you there? I am. Is that aaaaaalllll you have to say? Twenty years and this is what you have to say: Aaaiiii Am? Did you as just say twenty? Yes goddammit. I have spent twenty years with you. Oh shit, I guess I am better than I thought! Thank you baby! ---------------- PS: Ghoda stands for Horse in Hindi.

Every time I close my eyes I see the green of Kerala countryside The dark greens of lumbering rubber trees The even tranquil green of silent paddy fields The light lemon yellow green from tender clover leaves  And then I remember your dupatta Deep red or possibly maroon Standing out among the Kerala countrysides.

It was a long distance call. I could hear the lines grumbling garbage. It sounded as if it were raining down on the window panes at her end.  There were long stretches of silences between sentences. She would ask me a question and then wait for eternity for an answer that would not come. I used to use this silence to imagine where she would be standing. I would picture her in the master bedroom overlooking the valley. I would imagine the dress she would be wearing, the color of her top, the color of her leggings. She had thunder thighs and I fell for them long before I fell for her. Are you there? I am asking you something... Why don't you respond? Her bungalow had those brass roof linings which channeled rain water from the roof to run through British gargoyles into a small pond. Some of channels used to leak from the corners. I remember the sound falling rain used to make on the tiled roof and windows. The noise used to be so loud that we had to shout to be heard. We rarely shou

Photo for representation only I have wedding album from one of my many marriages that did not work. Buried in there are smiling faces of friends and relatives who had attended the ceremony. Like many chapters in my life, this too passed almost a decade and a half ago. Today, I am scared of opening that album. Most men and women who could laugh an unrestrained uncouth villagers laugh are dead. They dropped out of my life over the years, without much noise, most without good byes. Every time I see that old photo album, I remember the laughter that I miss in my life. Most of my loved ones now stand forlorn, as coconut trees, untended, uncared for, in some corner of large tracts of land which now remains barren. We are now dwellers of large cities. My village postman could not compete with the Dominoes delivery boy. He too is now gone, but not before a final whoosh of laughter from his toothless creaky betel stained mouth. --------------- PS: As an ancient Hindu ritual, we plant coconut tr