Thursday, May 31, 2007


A small one bedroom apartment, in the second or third floor of a nondescript building.Not one of those swank high-rises for me...from where everything thats beneath is a mere speck and all thats above is beyond your reach.No, some afternoons I would like to see the leaves of the trees outside the window, to hear stray bits of conversation float into the room.And have flies buzzing around that chocolate wrapper I forgot to throw away.

One single bed pushed against the wall.Which will double up as a couch when I have company.Simply covered in white.With emerald green satin cushions.The windows are to be unadorned.I've always hated curtains.And carpets.None of that in my room.

Windows are such beautiful things I feel they ought never to be covered .Not even glass panes.And definitely not those tinted officey ones.But of course I realise how inconvenient that will be ,the room will be flooded in monsoon and scorched in summer.Very impractical you say.But Ive never been any other way.

And now the most important important piece of furniture-the bookshelf.After much thought Ive decided that I like the tall narrow ones in dark polished wood best.It'll complement the white of the walls.Which ,by the way, will show between the shelves.That leaves no place for a cupboard which is all right.A cane box which will hold my clothes and an unframed full length mirror on the wall is all I'lle need to dress.

I cant of course lie on the bed and gaze at at the blue kites pasted on the ceiling all day,much as I'd like to.So I suppose there has to be a kitchen.A small one.Kitchennete I think its called.Single stove and fridge.Will regularly treat myself to some fish dish or the other.Which will obviously be delicious...

Ive been willing to compromise on space all along fact I prefer cramped quarters but the loo must be large.That I insist on.It must be spacious and have grey mosaic walls and floor.And no shiney new taps and shower which will simply spoil the whole atmosphere.The bathroom too must have a large window which overlooks a tree .And could I forget this?!A large glass covered bookshelf above the pot.For as Im sure you already know-the toilet is the room in the house where one reads.

Evenings in my house will be lovely.When the sky is a sad shade of orange.And so is the wall facing the window.And my long-stemmed lamp doing the best it can to keep out the dark from the rest of the room.Ille be sitting hunched up on the floor marvelling at the beauty of it all.

Dear reader, you have been very kind and infinitely patient to go through this tedious and (I must admit) boring description and the least I can do is to request you to visit sometime.Please come,You are cordially invited.

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Before the storm

An unnatural evening in the middle of the afternoon. Grey has clouded the sun. The leaves outside the window are whispering. They know.Theyre dancing softly to the quickening wind. Grey and green. Fresh green. A hushed silence. Restless peace. We wait, expectantly.

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

I have been told that it is wrong to eavesdrop. It is, for all but those who travel by public transport. When ten people share a seat originally meant for two you get to overhear conversations whether you want to or not. Sometimes it’s hilarious, sometimes it’s boring. Sometimes it makes you think.
A little girl was sitting on her mothers lap (not for anything else but the abovementioned shortage of space) and telling her all that had happened in school that day. The account was very detailed, rather engrossing and had not a chance in the world of being true.
Her mother listened to her for sometime and then asked her to shut up and stop lying. The poor child insisted (wide eyed, her two silly looking pigtails flapping vigorously) that all of it had really happened; she had seen it with her own eyes. She got a tight slap for her pains and a warning that if she lied again shed be locked up in a room with the light switched off. With a faint feeling of distaste I turned away.
This child’s mother felt that she had nipped a very bad habit in the bud. For you see it is wrong to make up stories in your head and pass them of as the truth. So she had punished her for it and called her a liar….
She had nipped something in the bud all right only it wasn’t what she thought it was. Nowadays the more intellectual people say that the world shouldn’t be viewed in black or white, allowances should be made for areas of grey. Black and white, I feel, is good enough provided you know one from the other

It was all as simple
As one small petal
That i unthinkingly tore
Or the wind blew away
And within a time so startlingly short
He loved me
Now he loves me not.

ps.omg .i feel like cowering in shame.believe me i dont usually churn out love poetry...just this once..

Sunday, May 6, 2007


think about that.if u dont have enough time then find some.its very very urgent.believe me.

the entire world looked confused
but he looked hard
and things fell into place.
something lay intertwined in it all
a design.

he looked at things
turned them upside down.
looked again
turned them around.
and then he understood
the kaleidoscope that was the world.

the cluster of stars above his head
were always ..well..clusters and nothing more.
then one day they separated into scorpions and kings
and he wondered how he hadnt seen before.

so the poet set out to look for forms that corresponded with the rest
and meant something as a whole.
he found it in frowns he found it in smiles
he even found it in bathroom tiles
the more he saw he realized
how life itself was a design

ps.written long of my favourites.
In defence of the independent thinkers

In a world,
Where the only way to be
Is to think as others do
Where a spark of originality
Is found far and few
Where the old and tasteless bromides
Are passed off as new
Independent thinking?
I stopped believing it was true.

The order of the day is
To adjust, to conform
To accept all the norms
When revolutionary ideas
Are buried in the storm
Of mediocrity …

The intellectual tag
Is granted to only those
Who incessantly chant
That which everybody knows
The undenied,unopposed...

Where is the place
For the men who think alone
For the calm and detached minds
That function on their own
Where is the place
For the men who lead the way
In a world of ordered chaos
And minds led astray.

ps.heavily influenced by ayn rand.much too sombre actually..
An Unpleasant Thought

We love,
To bend the ends of a twig
Till it snaps
To burst the bubbles
In a bubble wrap.
To hear the crash
Of breaking glass.
To squash the ants
That scurry past.
To twist and stretch
A rubber seal.
We love, for somehow it feels