Monthly Archives: February 2019

Andy – My Friend.


It is fun for Andy
he tells lies in the go.
One for today,
bold and blatant
another for tomorrow,
sharp and straight.
Andy is interesting.

His excuses extend
the reasons distend.
He heaps up lies over lies
A mountain of them
confound you for a moment.
Andy captivates.

Talking unfounded
is an art. Making them
believable with an emphasize,
adding fringes to render
an avidity is a skill.
Andy is a master craftsman.

I have come across many such ones.
They are not as charming
as Andy. The way he weaves
is superior. He does so, I find
later to camouflage his grief.
Andy! I feel sad for you.

Toothy Smile


It is a turn back.
The forgotten incidents
are not too many.
Majority remains
fresh in memory.

Events of joy
do not stay for long.
Those of hurt, of grief
remain intense in mind.
Paradoxical.

The hard work I put n
as a student, the exam fever
the anxiety kindled
during the publication of results
still keep me in awe.

The pains of childbirth
the responsibilities as a wife,
a mother along with managing
the business and the house,
make me wonder.

How did I do? I was so tied up.
No time to stand and stare.
even to breathe all the more.
I have survived. Those days
place me apart from the regular.

Do I feel at ease now?
Not at all. I am still
ticking around with a aching
knees, silvery locks
and sagging skin.

The toothless smile
when I was a baby
extends further, been
converted to a teethy
flashy one.

Toothless smile
will soon come
again.

Afternoons


The sun shines bright
my eyes get sore.
I lie on the floor
and in no time
I am fast asleep.

Without a pillow
nor a mattress
I embrace slumber.
The bare floor
seems comfortable.

All these years,
I have foregone
meals and other wants
I never could sacrifice
the afternoon siesta.

Wherever I be,
as I am more or less
a nomad shuttling
between countries
and places, I sleep.

It has become a regular
and if I miss a day
I go mad. I lose
my composure.
Behave funny.

With age catching up
my mid day drowsiness
grows in proportion.
The sun is in the middle
I am well into a dream.

An Oxymoron -Crow


Polish black
and one eyed
gait of disdain
a crackling voice
feet thin,unshaped
the one who caws
early in the morning.

Perches on the sill
savagely cleans
the environ
belies and betrays
exists with pride
in the midst of
prejudice undaunted.

The survival instinct
the never care attitude
the daring spirit
connives with treachery
an ill omen
when seen alone
flies with its brood.

The crow and the raven
are distant cousins
roam around the world
much seen in the tropics
rarely found in the temperate
a species with less patronage
breeds with great extensions.

Jaspal No More


The sound of a bike
its roar and beat
does not wake me up
every morning.

Jaspal, a burly young
sikh comes speeding
in mid morning
at about eleven.

On Fridays he supplies
three bottles
does not turn up
till Monday.

He has been with me
for ten years. He forgets
at times. I call him.
Does not answer.

A fortnight back
he absented himself
for many days. Heard that his
number is not in service.

Worried, I let the days pass.
One fine day came to know
Jaspal has passed away,
He had cardiac arrest.

Both of Us


the husband
dons himself in pure white,
the wife, I, seen in cotton sari
made of hand loom. Starched
and pressed.

It may be an old school
of thought – the way
we have been and we are
a pattern of our own, a
style different.

Our desire shows orthodoxy,
seen in the simple food we eat
explicit in our modest living
where there is no room for partying
Frugal could be the term.

Our house lies open through the day.
We close the doors in the evening
as mosquitoes spring into action.
The ethnic abode expresses
dignity and exclusiveness.

Old fashioned we are
Well, how will we be then?
as we grow old day by day,
grey hair and sagging skin.
We, ourselves look like a relic.