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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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Snow Expected
I was looking up details on the snow we are expecting tomorrow and came across these wonderful pictures of snow in Amsterdam. They are absolutely stunning. I had posted some pictures of the snow we had last winter. This year the viral infection has left me weak and I hope I am able to take…
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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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Delhi is a Ghazal
On reading Mumbai’s Ghazal by Raef Kazi I dream of Delhi sitting in Amsterdam tonight Glamor in the lawns, silk whispers to pashmina tonight All that dust, never dulls the white gaadis and kurtas This is Delhi we are talking about tonight Tall red brick walls surrounding gated marvels Ghazals soirees and an open grill…
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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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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…
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The Uterus Inheritance
I remember the Ambassador rides from Bhubaneswar to CuttackYour tussar sari draped around your shoulderAt home you would read files, make notes“It is tough being a woman Secretary of Industries”You had endometriosis A fresh incision on an arterial veinNever did you take a day off,Never did anyone find out In Raghurajpur they had an exhibition of handicraftsYou…
