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Been thinking of organising my writing properly now. A conscious move to cut down social media helped but, a lot of things were written here and there. Now, in the process of streamlining my thoughts and writings, merging poetry blog and posting final works here while that shall still remain as a draft board.

This one is called ‘War’. I have profound love for detailed conversations around totalitarianism, democracy, gender, sexuality and am fascinated by imagery. Imagery and visuals are what stimulate writing for me otherwise, it would just be a drab academic piece which’ll get tossed in the bin.

‘War’ is, like other poems, open to subjective interpretation, of course. Those who do read it are encouraged to comment and share their views maybe(?). However, for me images and emotions of nostalgia, love, loss, fight and surrender in today’s times made me pen this down. This is a little expression of the constant battle between fighting in an unjust environment versus maintaining a silence and minding one’s business. Will not say more than this lest it taint different interpretations.

In the batting of her lashes,

In the quiet smile that played

on the corner of her lips,

In the memories of her warmth,

I found myself again.

I walked up ‘head in the shadows,

One eye always turning behind,

Awaiting unknown dangers.

I knew victory in the battle was certain but,

Left a refugee in my own home, 

She is the only trace now

of a feeling that was snatched away. 

All’s fair in love and war they said,

Unfairness of their privilege they didn’t let on,

As her womb swells with our love,

I am left with the choice of silence now.

From BCT

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A friend with memory almost as sharp as mine asked me to describe how he looked when we had first met. The said test for my memory was only because I mentioned that I remembered him wearing an orange t-shirt the first time we had met. After passing the said test, he responded by saying that my memory is a curse.

Of course there have been times when it has been so both, for me and others around. For a minute, remembering all the not – so – good ones, I did imagine that it might be a curse someday! But then, I think its all in the perspective. Life and talents and characteristics all add up to be what you want them to be.

Recently, I put the ‘curse’ to another good use. In the train that I take in the evenings, a hijra called Saira gets in at Bombay Central and out at Lower Parel. She isn’t really pretty in the regular sense of pretty but, has the most beautiful big almond shape eyes that I have seen since my father’s. She somehow has never asked me for money but, makes it a point to look for a second longer and smile before getting into her routine of asking for money and blessing women. Every time before getting off the train, she does touch my head to bless me and walks on.

Like everyone else I know with regular memories or fading memories or those in denial that they remember, I assumed she might have forgotten my face too in the almost a month of being away. The other day when she got in again she quickly gave me the usual smile and asked if all was well at home. She remembered and cared enough to think that I might be missing because I might have gone back to my gaon.

Memory is only a reflection of the openness to or acceptance of the life that you’ve left behind, I think. Yes, scientists and people quoting from random academic papers might counter me but, I can choose not to remember their counters now.

How’s Waldo?

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Found this picture on tumblr which led to the following post:


Irony of humour with a pinch of sadness, this.

Kind of brings me to the random thoughts floating in the head as the car flew again on the highway today. I think I am particularly in love with the possibilities in the brain esp when on the move, mostly in the dim glow of the nightly travel. Today(night) was no different. As we drove past the others, my head swam to conversation with a cynical friend one afternoon. According to this friend, one doesn’t have to seek value everywhere and with every interaction. Same thing another cynically inclined friend had said to me. I cannot accept the concept. Nada.

As things go in the flurry of life, I had once tried to make peace with it thinking that I need to learn to accept that some interactions just won’t add value to any life which lead to another spin of thoughts. However, trying and testing the fantastically great number of friends / people I have had the fortune to meet in the past 24 years of existence brings me back even more strongly on my belief – every human interaction has the possibility of it being value creating.

One must not understand this view point as foolishly idealistic / optimistic. I do not claim that all these people will be haloed angels showering you with love at all times. They can maybe but, won’t. Some might be outright negative, some might be quietly indifferent, some manipulative! However, point is, having them around has always brought out some good thing or the other in me. Of course, that also depended and continues to depend on whether I’m open to understanding, realising, accepting and learning or no.

I think everything changes with a smile. Even the annoying aunty in the local.

Small doses of happiness

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There’s this trend that I have off late observed or rather gave thought to – what they call the hipster trend. Apparently, stumbling upon daily small doses of beauty and happiness is the cool stuff now. Never knew this day would come when the everyday would become the mainstream.

My reason for buying a smartphone has been the camera attached, however bad it might be. Part of the reason I created an account on Instagram was to see the work of people around the world and mainly, to save space on my phone. At times, it tires me and I wonder why do I need that account. I think connecting with the few worthy profiles is what is keeping me there – in the land of pouty selfies.

These are shots of the scant green that one has caught while walking on the non – existent footpath or commuting in the train or simply passing through the daily road on a Sunday afternoon that helped capture the gorgeous blue of the sky.

I find happiness is small things in the everyday life – for example, the joy of seeing two kittens at work grow bigger and healthier or them sleeping peacefully on a full stomach or the bright and wide-eyed smile that the kid in the taxi gave to me as if she knew me. I think the purpose of living is finding happiness right here, right now, just as one is. One doesn’t have to pretend to be pristine or other worldly to be happy.

Post about a post

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Bed post. Bombay home.

There are small parts of every day that one goes on ignoring, walks part without paying too much attention. In our mad, mad race to always be somewhere, to do something, we forget the small things. The little observations which won’t get you anywhere, which won’t get you a prize but, which would remind you time and again, what it is to be alive.

The other ‘post midnight – before sunrise’ time, which is usually spent reading, writing or simply staring at the ceiling I was waiting for time to go by as my time to get home came closer. Well, not really waiting but, reading was a slightly difficult pursuit that night. I love watching the strange little glowing reflections as well as shadows the lights in my room cast on the wall as they dreamily sway with the fan. While staring at the reflections and reflecting (haha) on things in life, I noticed this bed post. I’ve been staring at it all through the numerous months that I have owned it but, it was only that night that I really looked at it. I termed it as the ‘zonked out man with a curved moustache’.

Last night was a comeback to ‘silly’ little things again with a barefoot walk on cold grass in December.

Point is, I agree when the saner, more practical part of my head tells me to watch where I am going, to always be in the know but, the point here also is to let go at times of the things out of one’s control, to consciously make an effort to just stop running for a bit and just savour each small / big, thing, experience or old / new person in your life.


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I sit across from you.
Often wondering to myself,
If you saw me?

You were always with her.
The woman with red lips.
Or was it a gaudy lipstick?

Were you with her
Or were you just friends?
Did those lips paint yours red too?

The red paint
Brought dread in me often.
He used to wear it sometimes.
My father would make me let
Him paint mine red.

How do I tell you this?
How do I come and sit next to you?
How do I tell you to save your pink from her red?
After all,
Red has always scared us.


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The Great Punjab Hotel, Bombay.

This building is my favourite building so far. I’ve seen the other old ones and the others with rounded corners as well but, this building is just so beautiful that every time I go past it, I cannot take my eyes off it. Mind you, I’m no architecture geek or even an enthusiast but, I think time has made me one. Or rather, incidents have made me one. The thing about history is that traces of it that can be seen live are in the form of buildings, some as beautiful as this one.

In the more modern or Euro-fetishised ways, this building won’t stand a chance at even being compared with those pseudo-Athenian buildings (like the exhibition hall on the same road as this one) but, its more about what they talk about. This building, I think sums up what I love about Bombay and what I know Bombay to be. It is old, decaying and untouched in places and still stands in a glory that is unfathomable. The kind of old that Bombay has spells more starkness, more reality than other monuments or buildings in other cities one has seen before. Old here is real. Its dusty without any need for a refurbishment or any plastering for the eye. Old here exists as it is irrespective of the fact whether the eyes that glance at it are really looking or are just closed.

The picture’s from one Saturday when the entire day was spent walking in town with the heart leaping with joy at the sight of every old building – be it the Fire Temple at the end of the road or the library across and also ignoring the fact that I cross them every single day. I remember spending more than an hour sitting at the bus top right opposite this building. I really do love everything about it – the giant and old (not necessarily decorated) facade, the many balconies with each room, the blue plaster on each balcony, the singular wooden chair in each balcony as if there would never be 2 people sitting there!