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Dustbin Dreams: a short story
Maya was livid. It was that dustbin again. “It is there, on my mind, all the time,” she exclaimed. She had acquired a shrill pitch she gets every time she becomes anxious. One of perils of living in our particular government colony in New Delhi is that you cannot miss the indiscreetly placed dustbin. It…
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I Shall Emerge!
Kawahigashi Hekigoto (1873-1937), Japanese poet and haiku pioneer writes: 初雷や ふるふが如き 雛の壇 Hatsu-rai ya/ Furuu ga gotoki/ Hina no dan The first thunder Is likely to shake The tiered doll stand. I feel that way about spring. As the heads of the first crocuses crown on my street I want to let out a guttural shriek, a…
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Six Feet Under
The pile of letters still there where I left them the half empty bottle of coke a delight for the ants all over it the stale air, hanging humidity dust covering the books protectively reminders that I left in a rush for a burial Opening the window choking fresh air a hideous laugh at good…
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Dressing Amsterdam in a Ghazal
Do you think I can ever write in the vein of Delhi about Amsterdam? I did not choose Delhi, but once upon a time I selected living in Amsterdam In Delhi, we have serpentine avenues with magnificent trees I could find the cycle of seasons, getting and shedding leaves, in Amsterdam Sometimes I went looking…
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Bed Haiku
That time of night Unmake the perfect bed Only one side
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My Mind Meanders
Petulant blooms in magnificent rooms Come hither, I have a story to tell Pastel pink petals on marble topped tables Wondering what truths to dispel
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Bruegel and my Son
My son age 11 took a picture of the school playground covered in snow To send to his classmate who has recently moved to South Korea He said there was no him, no longer in that playground The image reminded me of Bruegel’s winter scenes So I told him about how Bruegel made everyday drudgery…
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Arcade Games
There is a packet of cigarettes on your desk. It is a foreign brand; not the type I occasionally buy. It looks pristine; unlike the wrinkled characteristic everything I own acquires. My dilapidated house is the last in a row. I see the commercial plans and drawings on the easels. Everything has fine straight lines.…
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Rebellion and Romanticism
The night in its limitless darkness a black hole engulfing all thoughts The picture of James Dean on the table, apparently, a symbol for flagrant rebellion The clothes yet to be ironed yet to be washed scattered on the floor, that we walk on the rug eaten by many winters The arena for some poetry…
