From The Bard's Pen

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me—
nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

- Hamlet

Tuesday, March 3, 2015


Krishna said
“They who stand before you
In the battlefield
Are not your blood relations..
They’re your enemies!”

My enemies!!
The hands that held mine
And steadied my tottering lil feet

The palms that
Caressed my head
In blessings
Before an exam..

The lips that chanted prayers
For me
Day and night..

The One whose last words
Were laced with concern
Not for his children
But me..

My Enemy??

The scythe falls down.

The blood that reddens
The earth

Is mine… my own.

Friday, April 18, 2014

Maa: A Bruised Memory

A bruised memory
on the mind’s landscape
Faint, discolored
that’s what the years with you 
have become, Maa

I shrink from
touching it again -
scared of the blood
that might ooze out,
scared of the pain
I would feel all over again

I dig around the bruise
with a little finger of pain
Gasping at the hurt
Crying yet again

I’m keeping you alive 
in my heart, Maa
Even if the distance between us
drives me insane..

Thursday, April 17, 2014


Yes, people.. I got married! Still feels weird though. Talking of weirdos, how can I forget Rach, my sweet nephew who believes in aliens, cartoons and junk food? He believed I was going to marry him since we kept proposing to each other at home whenever we had time, which was like everyday (We still do). We are the biggest ‘velas’ in the whole world and our world revolves around each other. We watch Shinchan together and laugh at all the inappropriate jokes. We dance like Shinchan too. You have an idea now of the kind of madness that prevails at my home.
So, Rach was under this stupid impression that he was somehow the groom at my wedding. Even though my fiancĂ© (now husband) had met him a number of times, still Rach continued to harbor this fantasy where Masi would marry him (him wearing the blue sherwani and the new pointed black shoes) and all would be well. He continued talking about his classmates and how proud he would feel to be the first one to get married in his class. And believe me, at this supposedly tender age, this kid, with a morbid imagination,  worries about who would fill his son’s school admission form, who would light the pyre in case his mumma or masi  die and so on and so forth!! So, Rach continued preparing for the wedding in his own weird world where he would be welcoming the guests, accepting gifts, getting pictures clicked with the bride, sampling the non-vegetarian food and getting married too, in the process. He fantasized of blossoming in the attention he thought he was going to get…Poor chap. He was in for a rude awakening.
      Rach’s Masi, on the other hand, was acting even weirder than him (If that is possible!) With just a fortnight left for the wedding, she was crying day and night. Not for leaving the family or loved ones behind. Not because she was scared of what the future might hold. Not even because of her alter ego-Rach. It was because Sachin Tendulkar was retiring! Her heart was in tatters. Her Facebook and Whatsap status reflected her pain and agony. She avoided going to markets when the match was on. She stayed glued to the TV. No tension about her upcoming nuptials.. The lady wrote, “Gods don’t retire. Period.” on her FB wall just days before her wedding.  All the bidaai songs fell on deaf ears. She just heard one name, one chant:

She stopped dancing like Shinchan and stopped eating Maggi. Rach was bewildered. Why wasn’t the bride-to-be happy and eating Maggi and other junk food? Why didn’t she fight with him for that last piece of Kurkure? He even tried his famous “fake farting” technique which was known to make her fall on the floor in hysterical laughter. But all in vain. He just got two tight slaps from Mumma and retreated to a corner, sulking like a groom. This was the scene in Delhi 5, a few days before the wedding.

The wedding was in Orissa, so all boarded the train with 20 pieces of luggage, excluding Rach. The women got sentimental during the journey at several points. They were trying to convince the bride to behave in a more ladylike manner and to develop this superhuman ability to cry at the right time and to control her guffaws at wrong moments. She, still mourning Sach’s retirement, paid no heed. The wedding party reached Orissa. Rach still didn’t figure out why all of them had to go to OOORISA (as he pronounces it) when they could have married in Delhi!! Delusional kid, I tell you.

 Snapshots from the wedding now :

*The bride had to  whistle like a maniac along with the music at the sangeet cos no body else knew how to!
 *Rach saw the red crabs and was ecstatic.
*On the wedding day, Rach was at a loss. His New Black Pointy Shoes suddenly seemed tight and he had to wear his loafers.
*When he reached the venue, he realized that there was actually another groom who was reaching in a decorated car.
*Rach looked forlorn but cheered up when he saw the golgappa stall at the venue. So what if he wasn’t getting married…there were still golgappas to live for. He stealthily escaped his mumma’s gaze and managed to soothe his heart with the tangy golgappas.
*The bride, meanwhile, refused to look shy or comely. She was chatting on and on and complaining that she was hungry.
*When the baraat arrived and negotiations about the ribbon cutting amount were going on, Rach, the farter and deserter, joined the groom’s side. He thought he was now the BEST MAN! The Defector had no idea what lay in store for him. His share of the “loot” was given to the bride. Poor chap returned home empty handed, still very much a bachelor! He still remembers OORISSA and red crabs and the day he almost got married.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

My Second-Best Bed

My Darling,

You deserve the best I know,
But since I’m no longer sure 
Of your feelings for me, 
I leave,
my second-best bed
For thee…

A bed where I lie
Dead now…
Uncomfortable as hell,
With bed sores
The feelings and memories
This wooden structure holds,
I hope they pass on to you

The lonely nights 
When I waited in vain,
The discomfort of bed bugs,
The backbone strains..
It’s all in here
In this bed centuries old,
It’s where we first made love
It’s where I died alone…

The best bed of course
holds memories serene
The birth of my lil ones,
the maternal scenes
Your touch will spoil that-
that purity of love.
You deserve the second-best bed,
The one with giant bugs.

Darling, I hope that
When you lie in that bed,
And close your eyes,
And look for some rest…
I hope you also feel 
Even if only for a moment of time
What it feels like to be termed the “second-best”
Almost all of your life…

Thursday, February 16, 2012


Innumerable bidders
for my virginity

Not that I was beautiful
No... just vulnerable.

Syrupy promises
poisoned my ears
And there were gifts to incite greed
Sparkling gems, rubies,
rare stones
paved the path I treaded.

None offered love
I wasn’t a girl one could take home

They averted their eyes in daylight
Eyes that worshiped me
At night.

I bargained hard

Not really...

My dreams I traded-
for the crisp currency
for a gold chain
for some beautiful crimson cloth

a white shroud for my father..

Friday, January 27, 2012

A forgotten rose in a diary

Lending a yellow tinge to
the crimson words
it lies there forgotten.

Often I have dropped it,
misplaced it or left it behind..
Strangely it turns up
at the same page every single time.
Bookmarking the day
we lit candles for my god,
when I started believing that you
indeed were the One.

Many more pages I scripted
for love and loss,
watered them with my tears.
Yet you remained there
a silent observer...
A voyeur.

I can just see that malice
in your fading petals
that herald the winter of my love.
Or perhaps it is just the scent you
leave behind on the pages
that have become one with you...
Chronicling a love forgotten

Just like a forgotten rose in a diary..

Saturday, September 17, 2011


My verses,
Sprang to life
when she sang them.
Words hovered over her lips
waiting breathlessly
for the utterance
to achieve the beauty of that music.

Often they were rinsed
with tears that escaped from
her eyes
Making the song wet...

She dreamt like me
Read meanings into my scribblings,
Loved them with a devotion
suited to a fanatic
Gathered up bits of paper
and made collages of my words.

And she let her soul
Eat every single alphabet and pause.
It didn't burp.
I had wondered at her appetite then.

I hate the resounding applause now.
The praise is all green.

She no more sings.
I no more write.

Envy asked only one question -
Who is the Creator - I or she?

Saturday, July 16, 2011

These Walls & I

There was a time
when all I ever wanted
was to break out of these walls

To go out
and let my senses feel

To take in a big gulp of air
and exclaim with joy,
“This is LIFE!!”

My nails became brittle
shoulders bruised
and knees grazed..
The walls stared back at me

Even my tears held
no sway.

And now all I want
is to curl down like an unborn
This is a womb.

I want no birth.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Knocking on Heaven's Door

There lived a sheep and her little one
In mountains high and grey
Happily grazing, playing together
Thus they passed their days

One morning the lamb woke up
And found empty place beside
He searched and searched every hill and nook
But his mother he could not find

A kind, old shepherd looked at him
In soft pity he cried,
“Be brave little one, be brave my son,
Your mother died last night.
She wept and wept out of love for you
Which was so strong and pure
It gave her all she needed
For the pain she endured…”

“Where went she?” asked the little one,
Alone, sad and terrified.
“Oh!! She went to God’s heavenly abode…
Where good souls go when they die..”

The little one clueless and alone
Set out to search the vale
To find heaven, to find god,
To find where his mother dwelt.

Tired, helpless, hurt, small..
He roamed the entire plain
At last he sat and wept and wept
“My search has gone in vain…..”
“Oh mother! Where are you?” cried he,
“I need you here beside
My breath is short, my eyes dim,
Am I going to die?”

The doors of heaven blew apart
By a mother’s love and unrest
She reached the side of the little one
And held him close to her breast

His eyes were shut yet he smiled
His mother had come at last
The parting, torment, suffering, pain
Were memories of a distant past

She held him close and kissed him twice
And again when he asked for more
And then the little one along with his mother
Knocked at the heaven’s door……

Thursday, June 9, 2011

the way i write...

i have changed the way i write.
i no longer rhyme
Don’t even try to.

Pages are meant to be scribbled upon
And i’m still clueless
How a scribble becomes a poem.

Joining alphabets does not come easily
Words are mere inky feelings
And the jotting down is a permanence they shrink away from.

After a time you stop writing about love.
And the “I” disappears slowly..
Very slowly.

Hundreds of pages filled with “I’s”
Seem pathetic
Too many dots of assurance
Covering a towering me.

Now i just bow, kneel occasionally
My “I’s” still unavoidable
Yet a move beyond “me”.