>> Sunday, September 6, 2009

Little Raju found a spare box

Empty, brown: not much to talk of.

He stared wide-eyed at the flaps on the side

Just like wings on an airplane ride!

He wore those broken old glasses

With an upside down bowl on his head

And just like that Raju was flying

Across continents and three heavens.

The wind flung his hair and dried his mouth

The cape on his shoulder fluttered wildly about

Left, right, tumble around

Life ought to be seen upside down.

Then came Violet: big and strong

Not the protector-of-the-weak sort

One look at his little flying machine

And the evil cogs in her head spun crazily around.

A kick and a blow


A bucket of water

No plane no more.

Two and twenty years have gone

Little Raju has moved on

To computers and cameras and games and girls

Oh, and he’s not little any more.

Sober clothes he wears

A funeral to attend

To pretend to regret

Death of an old acquaintance.

He wasn’t surprised

To find a big brown box

With Violet inside

Oh, and she’s not strong anymore.

Memories trickle in

Like a leaking cardboard box

But he can’t ignore

The flaps on her side, like an airplane ride.



>> Friday, May 15, 2009

I scratch your dogs’ chin indulgingly
Late night joggers smile at my benevolence
“Lover-Boy feeding the dogs at this hour?
An assured brownie from Lover-Lady. Tee-hee!”

I glance to your room to find you still glued to your phone
Cradling it to your cheek – so soft, so porcelain.
Mischievous winds tease your dress
as curtains beckon with waving fingers.

A heavy sigh to mourn my discontent
while your dogs reply with low grumbles.
A pat on the head there ol’ boy;
at least one of us is having a good sleep tonight.

One click and your room has ushered in the night,
What a pity! You could have troubled me to do that!
You strut and prepare for the promise of a night fulfilled
All it takes is half-a-glass of water and two sleeping pills.

Fireworks, Oh! Trumpets and violins
My heart can’t withstand the joy within!
A quiet little dance to your door under the moonlight,
soundlessly covering the separating trajectory.

The fireworks dim and the trumpeters blink
What will you notice first thing in the morning?
The drugged dogs?
Or the missing pearls?


>> Thursday, February 5, 2009

It was a dreamy night, almost opiate with trees swaying lazily muttering sweet nothings to the mellow sea. His crooked gaits sunk occasionally, finally strewing sand on her. She DirtyLooked, “Dikhta nahi hai kya bevde?”

He squatted next to her offering to help her dust off the sand. This time DirtyLook graduated to LoudSlap. He could take it no longer and burst into tears describing his WorstDayEver with the milk getting stolen, missing his bus, and not getting a seat in the train. Oh, and his wife had decided to go on a world tour – with his money and another man.

She told him that there were WorseThings in life.


Not being able to eat pavbhaji, being stuck to seafood, no bus/car/cycle rides.


She slapped him again and flopped back into the sea. He stared: she was one queer mermaid.