It is the cow
on the road
roams free
with a bell
around the neck
keeps crossing
of the bikes and cars
that hoot and halt.

The cow saunters
munching the grass
lies down in the middle
seems a possible speed breaker
making the drivers
go round, turning diagonally
reversing to avoid hurting
the domesticated animal
creating a a disarray.

Cows considered sacred
by the Hindus possess
a status no other
animals dare think of
They do not encounter
beating or pelting
instead experience
a veneration, a kind
of worship as seen,
being a personification
of Goddess Lakshmi,



It is in between
a nonagenarian 
and a forty year old 
I am placed 
while watching a concert.

It is absolute bliss 
the older one experiences 
eyes closed, fingers
 following the Thala
a besh, besh, at times.
glued to the seat.

The one on the other side
 listens with distractions,
 reads the messages 
from her mobile, replies
tweets and records,
moving not an inch.

The between being me 
am neither fully engrossed 
nor partly involved 
lose interest in the middle,
 rise up to take a stroll,
an impulse to move.

Being known as irandu kattan
as coined in Tamil, I seem to be 
the least of all, besieged 
by passion and impatience
pestered by aches and inhibitions,
turn a buffer.


The Vernacular

Socrates, as he is known,
talks of his wisdom
speaks of his knowledge
with an air.

Pride being his virtue
he tells us of his reading
the scriptures, A scholar
of note helps him to understand.

Knowing him well for the past years
I suppress my surprise when one
of his kin comes up with Socrates’s

Refraining from exposing
his ignorance, I put forward
a message he had sent
to his brother.

A four worded one
where the words misspelt
give out a meaning
most adverse.

It reads “receive
and kill the donor”
while it should have been
receive and thank the donor”

This being most obvious
in the vernacular. I find
it hard to present the
same in English.



The past four days 
I missed out the routine.
I did not enter the expenses
 in my accounting.
The bills remain.
I shirked from folding 
my washed clothes,
they lie in a heap.
I did not bother 
to clean the house.
 it looks a mess.
I did some fast cooking
 as my hunger 
 rose up in bouts.

This way I never had been
all  the years so far,
 I did my chores to the dot,
This break seems obvious 
of the lethargy that I am 
facing at this period of life.
My body craves for rest,
mind cajoles me to pause.
it seems hard, no, it is rather
difficult to turn inert
as the calls keep compelling,
the duties drive you nuts.
I limp and  lag with a drag
to fulfill and accomplish.



The pandemic
is dynamic
slows for a while
then grows in style
strains hound
mutations abound
again a lock down
in my home town.


Articulating Art

Art confines 
to no boundaries.
 Its  extent being  
 far and wide
 high and low
 colourful and plain
 transparent and 

Measuring art is ugly
 Valuation is  impossible.
 Criticizing   is easy.
creating is difficult.
 I am dogmatic, as 
you see seem to wear 
the garb of a preacher.

A pencil sketch overlaps 
the picturesque.  A line 
out beats a detailed one.
 Like wise I can go on
 with the merits of art 
and its appreciation
 Anyway, art is for art sake. 

Art brings no money 
for most except a few
 who mint billions 
for a single sketch.
 It all depends on the timing,
 being in the right place
 at the right time 
 reaps a fortune.


Animated Joy

Fascinated by a little boy,
just eight ears old
who jumps on the bed
tumbles on the sofa
climbs the steps
in supersonic speed
cycles even more faster.
Fear and amazement
place me in a piquancy.

He is a bundle
of joy to behold
His eyes sparkle with mischief.
Animated, he is, so to say,
to contain him is next
to impossibility.
it will be a treason
to resist him. I allow
him to play as long as he wants

He returns exhausted
face flushed, perspiring a lot
drinks a jug full of water
his clothes drip,
his tongue red as fire
juts out, his eyelids gradually
close. Sleep enfolds.,
An incredible transition,
accelerated and inert, takes
place all too soon.


That Was Not To Be

Oh! it is my mother 
 One with many skills 
 proficient in knitting,
 does beautiful embroidery,
 plays Veena, executes 
business deals, over and above
 raises the six of us
 each having distinctive

She tries to teach me 
 all the crafts she mastered
 I perform so badly, disappointed 
 lets me go on my own, The only skill
 I learnt is that of stringing flowers.
one, two, three, I go 
start doing with leaves first
 then with big flowers
 finally with jasmine.
I accomplish, 

Doing that in earnest 
every evening with 
fresh flowers from 
the garden, I keep going
 thinking of my mother, If only 
 I had tried the other ones
 I sigh with grief, mother would
 be the happiest. I would have 
turned a pro, a precursor to all that 
being done with hand.


It is Twice

Twice he calls,
he wishes twice
says everything twice.

He orders twice,
dials twice.
guffaws twice,

We address him
” “Twice, Twice”

He does so, as
in his own words
to make doubly sure”.

He knocks twice,
nods twice,
bathes twice.

He was served twice
the same breakfast
as he had ordered twice.

the waiter refutes
to take back the second one,
poor one, he remains helpless.

he buys tickets for a show,
repeating as usual
gets billed for two.

His assurances
land him in trouble.
That does not change him.

He continues, gesturing
asserting, assuring
not once but twice.


Those Saturdays

Three of them 
sit on the stools
 one tries to rise
 the other gets down
while the third
 the smallest 
 sits knowing 
not what to do,

This being a ritual
 every Saturday
 of the week,
 With  a bowl 
of sesame oil, 
mildly warm, in which 
 pepper floats.
 a piece of garlic 

Smearing the oil 
first on the body
of the eldest, I 
 rub with force 
over the abdomen, ,
hands and legs,
 finally on the head
 a fair amount goes 
with a strong massage. 

Performing likewise 
on the second 
and the third, I make them
sit for full twenty minutes,
They play happily.
Hearing their scream as
 the oil descends to the eyes,
 turning them red.
I bathe them with traditional 
soap nut powder.

They come out fresh 
the skin looks beautiful 
and soft.  Hair gleams.
 I make them take moringa 
leaves soup. Reluctantly they sip 
the bitter taste lingers for a while.
The day turns out to be hectic ‘
for the children as well as for me.
Those Saturdays. will they come?