It Is A Drama

Passive I stay
watching the frenzy
with awe and fun.

The haste expressed
by the close related
women folk turns amusing.

It is a pre arranged ceremony
does not require any fanfare
yet, I see precipitation.

With sweat over their brows
they run here and there
creating an effect of earnestness.

Their histrionic skills
with acts and scenes
outbeat Shakespeare”s dramas


Those Two

The two of them,
say Meera and Sheela
one with folded lips
walks with less gait
and lesser etiquette
the other known for her jerks
the hands , neck and shoulders
twist and turn unnecessarily

They try to steal the limelight
with gestures arrogant. Meera
speaks of money and materials,
while Sheela talks of her earnings
and investments. Interesting to hear
their brag and drag. They engage
with such enthusiasm, the listeners
diffuse in course leaving them alone.

Been watching them with concern,
fervently hope they should stop
or be restricted by a good samaritan
as their endless conversations
are cover ups, conceal their inabilities
and deceits. Meera and Sheela
require a reprimand very soon.

Well, I hear a voice from somewhere
” Damn, shut your mouths and be quiet”


My Constant Companion

Do I follow the sun?
or does the sun comes behind?
I really do not know.

The day before
I opened my door
not early as six.

Being eight in the morning
I turn leaving the door ajar
the Sun pricks sharp.

I make haste
he keeps pace with me
burns my back.

A day after I sit
in the patio reading
the sun strikes my face.

I fold the papers and rise,
the hands and feet get scorched
shine in the red light.

I seek protection inside
the rays track me
penetrate and scald.

Impossible I find,
as the Sun accompanies me
wherever I go.

The Sun is my constant companion.
will never let me down. Stay with me
‘through thick and thin.


The Song

Nightingale sings

It is early morn.

The chirp swings

heralds a dawn


It Is History

“Ahimsa is my weapon”
says Gandhi. Tolerates
humiliation, sets aside violence
gets beaten, faces arrests,
never once insinuated
by the atrocities.

Marches to Dandi, Salt satyagraha
settles in Sabarmathi ashram
lives like an aesthetic. Spins
cloth, introduces khadi,
instils the desi spirit.
Gandhi engages.

He tours the country
pauses in Madurai.
at his friend’s
Karumuttu Thiagarajan
and his wife Visalakshi’s
home. Gandhi enjoys.

Visalakshi serves dinner
gifts a loincloth
to the leader who stares
at the cloth for a second.
Visalakshi smiles. Innocence
overlaps, A transformation.

Next moment Gandhi ties
the cloth around his waist,
removes his shirt, a perfect
picture of the Indian farmer.
Churchill’s “half naked fakir”
is born. The rest is history,

A gentle reference, have to make,
being their granddaughter, I
miss Karumuttu Thiagarajan a lot,
with whom I had been close,
never had seen grandma
Visalakshi, the noble lady.