Tuesday, December 8, 2009


I have done a guest post on my twin's blog as part of his 100th post celebrations...actually, mine was the 100th one!:)This is also the poem which I wrote in half an hour for the poetry competition at the South Zone Inter University Youth Festival(the topic was 'old age') and it got me the 2nd prize. You can view it here

Tuesday, November 17, 2009


"I am a feminist," she said, gazing intently at the pastel blue wallpaper.

"So...you hate men?" He had propped himself up by the elbow and was staring incredulously at her.

"No!" she protested. "It’s not like that! Feminism is not about hating men. It means, it means-"

But she never got to explain to him what feminism meant. For even as she was searching for the words to make him understand, he had leaned over and sealed her lips with a kiss.

"I don’t know what feminism is," he whispered hoarsely, "and I don’t care. But I know you’re female...." His lips were now travelling down her neck and over her bare breasts. "And I know you’re feminine...." He sighed and let his head rest on her chest, listening contentedly to the rhythm of her heart, as she tenderly tousled his hair the way she knew he could never have enough of.

"Yes, yes," she muttered, totally confused. "But feminism doesn’t mean not being fem-" Her words were cut short as his smiling deep brown eyes pierced hers and she got crushed in a tight embrace.

"I love you, baby," he murmured as he rolled over on his side and pressed her hand to his lips.

"I love you too," she heard herself say. And she didn’t know why, but at that moment, as she watched him get out of bed to shower and get ready for work, she felt like laughing, sobbing and puking, all at once.

Thursday, October 22, 2009


Not long ago was the earth
An abode beauteous,
Carpeted by the velvet green,
Roofed by the halcyon blue;
And ribboned by babbling brooks
Of a metallic sheen.

Gnarled giants stood patient guard-
Wizened gentleness cast in
Frames stout and hard,
Peering at the cheerful white clouds
Scurrying across the azure above.

The giants laughed at the pranks
Of the frolicking streams,
As they wound by their knotty feet
On their journey to the lushest leas.

The clouds loved the leafy fragrance
Of the canopies that stroked them,
And at times, their woes they wept out
Against the loving brown bosoms.
Confided the winds in these soothing giants
And left with souls purged
Of the burning angst.

Birds perched on the giants’ arms
And sang to them mellifluous strains,
While the giants smiled and swayed
In rhythmic beat, their emerald heads.

But invaded into this paradise
The ruthless villain Man-
With hard glittering eyes
Full of avarice and lies,
Carrying razor-like smiles,
And something shiny besides.

The cold metal glistened in the sun,
Held in Man’s brutal clasp;
With stony swipes they fell
On the bewildered hapless giants,
Whose limbs they hacked,
Whose hearts they pierced,
And left lying dead
In a pool of betrayed blood.

The whole land went into mourning
Of their beloved giants;
The velvet carpets tore and smudged,
The halcyon blue paled into ugly grey.
No more did the birds sing,
No more did the winds sigh,
No more did the brooks laugh,
No more did the clouds cry,
No more, no more....

And where once resounded
The lovely dance beats of life,
Echoed the sinister silence of death,
Sharpened by metallic silver blades.

Saturday, October 10, 2009


Each shimmering star,
A soul shivering
In the loveless cold-
Broken hearts scattered
Across a murky blue reality,
Trembling with untold grief
Amidst the unknowing,
Unfeeling, steady moonshine.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

A Woman's Love

A woman’s love runs deeper
Than the springs of sorrow
That crisscross life;
A woman’s love is purer
Than the first snow that swathes
The mountain tops.

A woman’s love flows free
As the doves that wing
The cerulean dome;
A woman’s love is gentle
As the happy breath
Of a sleeping babe.

Mysterious as the mist
That swirls in a vale astray;
A woman’s love is wild,
Like a forest fire
On a summer’s day.

A woman’s love, honestly returned,
Swells like the tide
On a full moon night,
And engulfs her lover
In perennial spate.

A woman’s love, if basely spurned,
Kindles fury- that shakes the hills,
Stills the roaring seas;
And spawns hurt that smoulders
In her grave.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009


Here, hold my heart,
I’m much better off
Without this throbbing pain,
Without this need to love and to feel,
To laugh and to bleed.

Here, take my heart;
I’m much better off
In a static scorching summer
Sans emotion and all;
The colourful spring
Of blossom and birdsong,
Leads but to a melancholy autumn
Of smiles turning yellow and brown,
And falling off my life
With hardly a sound-
Like the tears from my eyes,
And ending in a frozen winter
Of perennial pain.

Here, hold my heart,
Please take it and leave,
And just dump it
In the nearest trash bin
You find, thank you.

Friday, July 3, 2009


This love has grown mouldy,
Left neglected in the monsoon,
Got rusty with disuse.
Words tender and true at the time,
With stony silence now turned stale-
Our perfect symphony
Long decayed into cacophony,
Memories of Heaven before Hell do pale...
Worm-eaten dreams and cankerous vows-
So much for our garden-fresh love!

Delivered in a bright blue carton,
Bought at an exorbitant price,
From that cheerful chubby lad
In the store down the street;
Sigh! Our hard-earned time
Gone down the drain!

"Sorry, madam, I’m afraid nothing
Can be done about it," said the lad
Politely, cheerful as ever,
When the unsatisfactory product
I thrust on the counter.
"The affection, I agree, has curdled,
The happiness has rotten, the memories mouldy;
But the pain, the hurt, the bleeding wound,
Are still so fresh, as we promised."

Cursing myself, I returned dejected-
I should have read the fine print
On that bright blue carton
Of garden-fresh love.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Rainy Tales

In the beginning,
Puddles of joy,
Paper boats and splashed laughter,
Joyous drenchings, Mama’s scoldings,
Wet classrooms with the wet-sock-stink,
And along muddy ways, the great
Umbrella chase, in spirits
Undampened by the gale.

Later, silver dreams by a window sill,
With a steaming cup of coffee,
Watching the silver tassels
Tumbling from a dark saree
Draped across a swarthy sky;
And pitter-patter lullabies-
Or whispered sweet nothings???
Rainy smiles on rainy nights....

And now... soulful strains
Of a melancholy mood,
A rhythmic recital
Of ineffable loss,
Plaintive notes arising
From sunny days of yore;
Tears streaming down the window pane-
My own or the weeping sky’s???

Friday, June 5, 2009


Wish I could delete
The frozen pain,
The aching silence;
Empty the recycle bin
And lose them forever.

Wish I could copy-paste
The good old days,
Over and over again
In place of this numb pain.

Wish I could undo the mistakes,
Start over anew,
And when the hurt
Makes my life hang,
Instantly shut down and
Restart afresh.

And when it all gets too much,
I could just crash.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Hi All !!!

I am so sorry i haven't been active in the blog world for quite some time now. I have been neither updating my blog nor visiting yours. It's because of my exams. I'll get back into the groove once my exams are over( which will be some time in May). Please do bear with me until then.

Bye. And take care

Tuesday, February 24, 2009


Mourn I today
The death of a dream:
Being cremated
On Reality’s pyre,
Engulfed with fury
By cruel Fate’s fire;
Stinging my eyes,
Singeing my soul,
And as I stand looking
At the ashes grey,
I feel so light-
I am emptied of Life.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Guest Post on Shravan's Blog (Ephemeral Eternity)

Shravan is a fellow-blogger my best friend introduced to me- a very creative guy brimming with intensely original and innovative ideas.I was quite taken aback- I mean, pleasantly surprised- when he asked me to do a guest post on his blog. It was indeed an honour... Thank you Shravan! To see the post i contributed, click here

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


When memories come pelting
Like hailstones on the glades-
A furious storm of sights and sounds,
Colours bright and soothing shades,
Places known and faces dear,
Voices loved and touch familiar...

Shards of old laughter-
Untinged with tears,
Unbroken by thoughts
Of what comes after.

Dreams together dreamt
And woes together wept;
Those times when
Past and Future slept,
As the Infinite Moment
I drank to the lees,
Cocooned by the silk
Of friendship and love.

In moments like these
When a whirlwind from the past
Wrenches me away
From the present grey;
And I find myself longing
For those places known and faces dear,
Those voices loved and touch familiar....

When nostalgia rains down
In endless torrents,
My heart it floods
Not with mirth or torment,
But with wistful streams
Of happy sorrow....

Saturday, February 14, 2009

First Rain (LP 6)

It’s the first rain
At the end of a summer
Of dry passions
And dreary deadness;
Of stifling heat
That sapped my strength,
A long dry spell
That seemed to never end.

I walked on and on
In the scorching sun,
My sweat mingling
With bitter tears.

I tried to lull myself to believe
That this is Life-
These lurid colours
That distract but never soothe,
This riotous clamour
And hollow laughter,
These gleeful sighs
And woeful smiles;
This torrid season
Of dust and lust.

But that was until
Rain clouds gathered
On my heart’s horizon,
Destiny thundered,
And it began to rain...

Oh! Such coolness, such silky wetness,
Such earthy fragrance
Like never before...
My wounds all healed
In the divine downpour,
That washed off my spirit
The dust of doubt;
Dreams sprouted again
In my barren life,
Wilted flowers blossomed
When touched by the rain;
It cooled the charred
Embers of the past,
And today I know
What peace is at last.

I drench myself again and again,
My thirst insatiable;
It’s my first love after all,
The first rain
On my parched soul.

P.S: With this, I conclude my Adolescent Love Poem series. Wishing you all a very happy Valentine's Day! Enjoy! :)

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Love Came Knocking (LP 5)

Love came knocking at my door,
But I was too fast asleep;
Asleep and dreaming
Of princes on white steeds,
And lovers on lily beds.

Oh! Hear I did not
That nervous little knock,
Trembling with unsaid words,
Unsaid dreams...and unsaid love.

I was searching the skies
For the rainbow of love,
But I failed to see
The forlorn cloud nearby,
Heaving with unrained love.

Danced I in the wind and waited
With the nectar of my love;
Not knowing the bee that hovered
Day and night near me,
Would not alight, only out of fright
My petals his clumsy
Black limbs would hurt.

Through moonless nights
And sunless days,
In the riot of spring
And winter’s deathly white,
The bee was ever by my side.

Oh! Love was knocking at my door,
But I could not hear the feeble sound;
The garish bird-song filled my ear,
Love’s true call I could not hear;
Nor my heartbeats sobbing loud
For a love so near...but I was blind.

And then one day, come the bee did not-
My life with loneliness was fraught;
Blush my cheek sunshine’s kiss could not,
Nor make me laugh the tickly breeze;
Revelation flashed, remorse did boom,
And I knew as sorrow rained,
The bee’s drone it was
That made me bloom....

Yes, love came knocking at my door,
But I was too fast asleep.

Rose (LP 4)

I am a rose in your hands:

Love me- and I'll bloom,
Please you with my fragrance,
Dispel your gloom.

Crush me- and I'll pale,
Shrivel up and wilt,
And waste away with a silent wail.

Your Name (LP 3)

I wrote your name on the golden sand,
But the wily waves crept up the shore,
And washed it away with the sweep of a hand.

I scratched your name on a tree trunk,
But one fine day,
The bark peeled away.

I carved your name on a huge rock,
But the moss smothered it after a rain,
As if my sweating labour to mock.

So I engraved your name deep
In my heart, and I know
It will forever be safe.

Silent Love (LP 2)

[Inspired by the heart wrenching dilemma of an intense but incompatible crush I had in school ;)]

I have long since known
That not all feelings should be spoken,
For when you expose your heart,
You risk it being broken.

There is so much to consider,
Just too much at stake,
Before the move you make
To bare your soul.

What will be the reaction?
Will there be rejection?
With that I couldn't cope,
For the best, I can only hope.

And what if my declaration
Causes a bomb explosion,
In the lives of those I know,
And I become their foe...?

Society may not approve,
This may be forbidden love;
Their stigmas I can't remove-
Of religion, caste and class.

Oh, how will I neglect
The anguish of my loved ones;
Before their searing pain,
Won't this love look like selfish gain?

So let me keep this fire
Hidden in my heart,
Let this silent love
Go with me to the grave.

For there's so much to consider,
Just too much at stake,
Before the decision I take
To follow my heart.

Damsel in Bliss (LP1)

Floats she with royal grace
Across a meadow
Of fresh green hopes;
Such glowing radiance to her face,
But purest joy born
Of noblest thought could endow.

The still dark pools of her limpid eyes
Love-heavy, laid
With the sweet nectar of love;
Her smile could thaw the winter’s ice,
Divine bliss that dwells in angels above
Blossoms in this rustic maid.

She halts by the rambling jasmine vines
Climbing away to unknown glory,
She gently plucks the pearly buds-
Tendresse has many signs...
And strings them to tell the soulful story
Of two hearts that beat as one.

Festooning the velvet piece of midnight sky
Cascading down her shoulders frail,
And oiled to lustrous perfection,
She lets out a gentle lovesome sigh
That bursts open the niveous buds
To spread the scent of a tender tale.

Skirt tickling the springy green,
She moves on, the mystic lass;
The cuckoo sings with unknown fire,
The roses blush like never seen,
And the old peepal smiles at the old, old tale
Of two hearts that beat as one....

Love Poems - Valentine's Day Special!

The next few posts will be devoted to love poems that I penned when I was sixteen or seventeen, in an adolescent delirium of hormones. Indeed, that was a time when, as Pablo Neruda so succinctly put it, “love poems were breaking out all over my body”. Things were aggravated by the fact that I laboured under an idealized concept of love fed to my poor vulnerable teenage mind by our popular fiction and movies. Reading the poems now, my wiser, more mature self, finds them rather maudlin and some downright mawkish! I claim no great literary merit to them but I am fond of them all the same... because they always make me smile....

And that, my dear friends, is my sole reason for sharing them with you here on my blog.... Since Valentine's Day is round the corner, let me dedicate them to all you lovebirds out there! I'll be marking them 'LP' next to the title to distinguish them. See ya!

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


Crawling in my skin,
These words they will not hear....

The anguished lyrics bombarded her ears as Sudha halted tentatively outside her son’s closed door. This had become his habit for the past few weeks- hurl his bag and tie on the sofa, get a packet of French fries from the fridge, put on rock music at full blast in his room and shut the door with a bang. He would remain locked up in his room until dinnertime and on some days, he would not turn up even then. At first, Sudha had attributed this behaviour to adolescent blues but as it became a norm, she began to grow worried.

“Vishnu!” she called out in the most neutral tone she could manage. No response. The music just blared as loud as ever. She called him once more, raising her voice a bit more this. The volume was turned down for a moment and an irritated voice answered her, “What’s it now, mom?”

Now? Sudha couldn’t help thinking to herself. This was the first time ever that she was interrupting his after-school routine.

“Open the door, son...”she said gently yet firmly.

“Why?” the grouchy question came in an instant.

“Why?” The word echoed in her head before piercing her heart. Because I want to talk to you, my son...ask you what is wrong...tell you I’m there for you. Because I can’t bear you shutting me out of your life anymore. Because I love you. But the words never travelled to her lips and all that ensued was a brief, heavy silence that was shattered as Vishnu turned up the volume again.

Sudha slowly started walking away. This was not new to her-this inability to speak up when it was needed. The same had happened on that rainy night two years ago when she tearfully confronted her husband on learning of his infidelity.

“Yea, that’s right,” Deepak had said, as coldly suave as ever in the face of his wife’s broken-hearted wrath, “I sleep with the staff nurse on my night shifts. You got a problem with that? Then just leave. I don’t give a damn, do you understand?”

Stunned, she had stood rooted to the ground, unable to speak, unable to even cry any more. And she had remained thus as he impatiently took off his coat and tossed it at her face before marching into the bathroom. Yes, she had stood there just like that- Pain, with a hospital smell....

Despite her husband’s explicit exhortation, she had stayed. She was an engineer by profession but had quit her job after marriage to become a full-time mother as Deepak preferred it that way. She would have had no problem standing on her own feet had she got a divorce...but still she chose to stay. Maybe because she felt there was nothing to look forward to in life, and hence nothing to be achieved by a divorce, her pride having already been ruthlessly demolished with surgical precision by Deepak’s inhumanly calm words on that rainy night. And then again, the thought of her son’s future had also been a deterring factor.

Leaning against the railing of the balcony, Sudha realised with a tightening sensation in her throat that her son too was moving away from her. He had been acting strangely for quite some time now. His grades were falling too. She had tried talking to him but found that her son, who had been so close to her as a child, now just would not open up with her. She had even temporarily terminated her indeterminate Cold War with Deepak to ask him to talk to their son- foolish of her, she understood almost immediately, as Deepak stared indifferently at her; he cared neither for her nor her son.

The honk of a car at her neighbours’ gate released her for the time being from her mental turmoil. A wistful look crept into her eyes as she watched Rema bustle forth to open the gate for her husband. The Thomases had been their neighbours for over five years now. Mr.Thomas was a high school teacher and the couple had a daughter who was about Vishnu’s age.

From a discreet nook of the balcony, Sudha looked on as Mr. Thomas unbuttoned his shirt and sank into a chair in the verandah. Rema appeared shortly with a steaming cup of tea, followed by their daughter. As Mr. Thomas took the cup from his wife with a tired but affectionate smile and tousled the hair of his daughter who had seated herself on the arm of his chair, Sudha remembered with an aching numbness the countless nights she had stayed up without having dinner, waiting for Deepak to return from the hospital. Only to be snarled at when he finally got home for not opening the door quickly enough, and watch with deepening hurt as he silently ate the food she served (which she had taken care to keep piping hot, the way he liked it) and then retired to bed without even asking if she had had her food.

“Is your headache better, Rema?” Mr. Thomas asked as he sipped his tea.

“Oh yes, it disappeared as soon as I put the balm. Got it probably because I stayed up too late last night.”

“Papa, we are having our study tour next week,” Tina chimed in.

“I see... and where are you going, honey?”

A smile flickered across her face as Sudha listened to the family chatter. She felt no bitterness...she had long since resigned herself to her lot.

True, the Thomases’ modest two-storeyed house looked quite plain beside their huge, elegant bungalow...but oh, thought Sudha, what would she not give to exchange her place with Rema? The family life of the Thomases was everything that Sudha had dreamt of as a starry-eyed young girl...dreams that had gone up in smoke soon after her marriage to Dr.Deepak Kumar, the “oh-so-wonderful” match that her parents found for her. Mr. Thomas was the quintessential urban middle class head of the family- caring husband, doting father and absolutely dedicated to his family. And above all, he was a gentleman to the core and a teacher of sincerity worth emulating.

Suddenly Rema’s raised voice caught the attention of Sudha who had gradually tuned out as she went off on her own mental ramblings.

“For Christ’s sake, be practical for once!” Rema was saying, sounding considerably annoyed,“Your salary alone is really not sufficient any more!”

“If it has sufficed so long, I can’t see why it can’t any more!”retorted Mr. Thomas.

“For the simple reason, my dear,” riposted Rema, “that the times have changed. The cost of living is shooting up by the day, and our daughter is growing up too....” When this elicited no response from her husband, Rema went on: “Now just look at Dr. Kumar next door. He works in a government hospital, but does that mean he’s content with his monthly salary alone? No, he is into real estate business as well...and that’s why they are so rich! Now he is what I would call a prudent, discerning family man with far sight...”

“Be content with what you have, Rema!” Mr. Thomas was starting to sound irritated.

“Yea, right! Content, did you say? With this shabby old house and rickety Maruti 800, huh? Now the Kumars...they bought a new Ford Ikon last week and they are refurbishing their house yet again. When was the last time we....”

Sudha hastily moved away in a daze, not having the strength to hear any more....


A woman’s love runs deeper
Than the springs of sorrow
That crisscross life;
A woman’s love is purer
Than the first snow that swathes
The mountain tops.

A woman’s love flows free
As the doves that wing
The cerulean dome;
A woman’s love is gentle
As the happy breath
Of a sleeping babe.

Mysterious as the mist
That swirls in a vale astray;
A woman’s love is wild,
Like a forest fire
On a summer’s day.

A woman’s love, honestly returned,
Swells like the tide
On a full moon night,
And engulfs her lover
In perennial spate.

A woman’s love, if basely spurned,
Kindles fury- that shakes the hills,
Stills the roaring seas;
And spawns hurt that smoulders
In her grave.

To Kill a Butterfly

[Dedicated to the victims of child sexual abuse]

These tiny wings so delicate,
Splashed with colours bright
That speak of faith untarnished,
And zest unbridled, for life
And its zillion mysteries,
For the wonders of the world around.

In wondrous rapture she drinks
The new sights and tastes;
She flits from bud to leaf,
From blossom to bower green…
Just come into the light,
She’s all trusting curiosity;
She knows not of the night or fright,
And is unalloyed felicity,
Unaware of the serpent that
Beneath every rose lies.

She sees not the cat
That creeps up from behind;
And pounces on her with a cry,
That many years apart,
Will still chill her heart.
She writhes in confused terror,
As she is mauled
By those cruel claws-
She hadn’t known of evil,
Or the world’s myriad flaws.

The villain walks away,
Leaving her worse than dead…
The tiny wings are broken,
She’ll never fly again;
Never again will she know
Joy free from fear.
The vivid hues all
Forever have faded-
Marking the sudden death
Of fragile innocence.

Friday, January 9, 2009

Laundry Blues

My soul needs some mending,
It’s frayed at the ends;
It’s stained with time too,
But don’t rinse too hard-
It may tear apart.

It’s wrinkled, it’s crumpled,
You say you’ll iron it out,
But can you see
The mountains, the valleys
That nestle in the folds?
The oceans, the gorges,
That gape in the creases?

No, I have given it too often,
And given it too soon,
To too many launderers
Of too many lands,
Who promised too many wonders,
And in the end did only plunder…

So let me keep it with me,
This soiled little rag,
Some things are best
Left as they are.