Apoorva has been my friend, philosopher, guide since we met in September 1996.

You can read about his experiences and poetry on his blog:

Apoorva in Amsterdam

Get the drift:

And then she whispered, “Could you turn down the volume? I’m getting a headache.”
As the music softened, so did the fragments of thoughts scattered in her mind,
drifting away like ashes in the wind.
She reclined, waiting—her eyes searching for something in him,
but time moved like molasses, slow and thick,
and he, like the last echoes of a fading song, slipped away.
Dreams crumbled, moments folded like fragile paper,
and life’s pitch grew lower, softer,
until only silence remained.
“There is nothing left to say,” she uttered.
“Why? Why would you say that?” he asked, voice trembling with confusion.
“Because if you don’t like Kailash Kher,
I can’t do this anymore.”
“Are you saying we can’t have a relationship because of Kailash Kher?”
“I think I am. There’s no point in it.”

Fireflies flickered like distant stars in the night’s canvas.
He chuckled, “Look, mosquitoes with torches.”
But she didn’t laugh—not even a trace of a smile.
What was the point?
Damn you, Kailash Kher.

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