The Boy Falls Into The Borewell

accidental, a slow fall
goes down the well
feet by feet,
a three day effort
to rescue takes the life
out from the squad,
the parents faint,
the rains play havoc,
the child goes
further and further down
stays without food
and water, in the dark
tunnel, none to comfort
all because of the negligence
of one who dug the bore
did not bother to cover
when it failed.


Am I An Eyesore?

Being chased by dogs
is normal in towns.
Being beaten by animals
is expected in forests.
Being pursued by persons
every day of your living
takes the life out.

I am in a status
where I am watched,
followed, attacked
for reasons I
could not understand,
as I make it a point
to be away from
the plotters.

I do nothing spectacular.
I work and earn. It is not
working but slogging,
minding my expenses,
‘accounting them,
mostly away from
my children and comfort

Being made of a different stuff,
I refrain from back biting,
do not go ahead with inquiry’
not interested to know
what others are doing.
it is work, music, reading
keep me going. Could this
be the cause for eyesore?


Deepavalli Enchants

With Deepavalli
around the corner
I hear crackers
explode with noise
see fireworks
rise up in a spectrum.

The old charm being
bygone. I stay watching
the colourful event,
a graduation from
an active involvement
to a silent participation.

Decades back
the sons of mine
boisterous as could
be expected defy
norms ignore cautions,

hold crackers in hand,
ignite them without fear
throw them afar, then
fit them in bottles,
make them explode

excited they jump as the bottle
rises high and falls down
with a thud, the pieces fly
in every directions, thrilled,
I join in the spree .

Those days flash, the anecdotes
slide in a sequence, being
lovely memories that enliven.
This year’s Deepavalli
commences with retrospection.


A Father To His Daughter

A confrontation
between a father
and a daughter,

a most unpleasant
crosses my mind
now and then,

The father disturbed
by his failures
hurts his daughter,

who stays away
from the family,
either for good or bad

is caught unawares,
the man speaks
with rage unimaginable

The girl, first thinks
he is crazy , later
unable to bear the scorn

loses her platitude
bursts out and
swears not to return.

She remains so
till the father
breathes his last.

A beautiful relationship
goes down the drains.
It is now beyond


In A Maze

I am in the midst
of relations in my

the retinue around me
keeps vigil for what
I do not know,

could be a ploy
being one of deceit
to pin me down.

They watch every move
and every deal with
uncanny insight.

Obsessed with building
a new house lose track
of what happens,

A little about me
neither wise nor foolish
I fall in the mid range,

I do not get ‘swayed
by money or rapport,
rely on my conscience,

refrain from seeking
unwanted gains, nor like
to tag with insincere ones.

Startled to find
eyes behind my back
chasing like a shadow,

my conversations
with a limited few is

I move out even less
that being noted
with timings,

hiring personnel ‘
for chores gets thwarted
somehow or other.

Hear questions
as where I am?
and what I do?

They resound,
in the background
I freeze.

All being done
with the one in mind
I am an hindrance,

they feel I am prickly
like a thorn, toppling
their progress.

Perhaps, they want
to push me
out of the world.

Mystery shrouds.
Can they do? I wonder
Not really, for they know
I am strong.


Those of The Mothers

A distant cousin
walked home
in the evening.

For a moment
could hardly
recognize her.

To hide my
feelings greet her
with a warm smile.

Engaging in conversation
recall her name through
her soft voice. A unique tone.

She stays with me
for a while. Talk
of the good old days,

her mother and my mom
enter and remain though not
in the real sense

references of them
bring back old memories
enthusiasm overwhelms,

turns into an evening
of retrospection
those of the mothers.


Bereft Of Grace

Reach the avenue
where the celebration
is at its heights.

The long winding
lane terraced by
a colourful shamiana.

Announcements restrict
the entry, directing
to go in queues,

as if in a holy place,
a too much of vanity
an expression of an upstart,

Regretting the way
I have to negotiate,
I keep silent,

It is no more joy
to stay, stifling
at all corners.

Helpless, I sit
for a few hours,
watching the events.

Appears garish
and gaudy with no
sense of grace,


Pay At Your End

A line of few words
turns a relation sour.

An amount of few hundred
breaks the bondage.

An unmindful talk
destroys the association.

The line as I read
” pay at your end”

The amount I realize
is five hundred.

The words I hear
is “bugbear”.

The filial amicability
gets shattered.

Controversies emerge,
a suit follows.

Expenditure mounts
The solicitors benefit.

Years roll by,
So does age.

The parties turn old
the case remains fresh.

A small spark
ignites a fire
that spreads
and engulfs.



I see them
fighting all the day
the one accusing the other
wherein comes the granddad
and the respective families
in the controversy.

Poor old grand father
dead and gone years ago.
He returns alive
along with his old wife
who does not know the
wife of their grandson.

It ranges for a while
hurling books at each other,
knocking down the chairs
each one turns hysterical
the kids are in fear, at least
they pretend to be so.

The eldest drags
the youngest, closes
the door. The parents
yell and scream,
Later they retire.
It is quiet.

The children smile.
a meaningful one, Being
familiar with the tantrums
and seen them getting
close after few hour,
one repeated every fortnight.



Watch those who liaison
with awe. Impressed by one such
I pick up a conversation.

He is talkative, Delves
into the subject with ease.
Lists numbers and figures.

I listen with attention.
His gestures and body
language simply impressive.

I deter from interrupting, lest
his flow gets arrested. For a while
follow him with appreciation.

My interest slowly wanes
as I sense his repetitions
turn exhaustive.

I yawn, wriggle in my seat,
become restless exploring
ways to stop him.

He refuses to notice
my uneasiness goes on
with a gusto,

it is how negotiations work
Persisting with a skill
and exiting with a result.