plume

 

It is not funny

When the white #plume of reason

Is masked by red rage.

#vss365

#haiku ?

To My Child - 30 Years Hence

 

On this Children's Day:

To My Child - 30 Years Hence

Thirty years back

We worried about

The mushroom cloud

And the world ending

In 1999.

Now we worry about

The loss of freedom,

The hate of all

And the world ending

Close to 1999.

resolve

 

I fell in love

at a speed date...

For five and forty seconds:

Tender looks, witty repartee,

Nature's rhythm, our heartbeats

Treading the same measure...

Fill in the rest of that

Well-played act, will ye?

For five and one hundred thirty seconds:

With great #resolve, 

We tackled the predicament,

Weighed our bank accounts,

Career prospects, credit scores,

She noted my shoe size,

I discreetly inspected her teeth,

We enquired about family's health,

Checked if history supported future...

Then, without much (more) ado,

We said, "I love you..." 

#vss365

implore

 

"I #implore you to love me,

Don't look with such hate.

I ain't weak, ain't defeated,

Yes, I used to feel more before.

I just can't fight, can't love,

I can't even get out of bed."

"Who are you talking to?"

"noBOdy. NObody. noboDY."

I snarled at the one in the mirror.

#vss365

hypothetical

 

How many times have I said,

"Consider the #hypothetical..."

When I could have stated

The obvious reality?

I even asked what you would do

If I married a lovely woman.

We knew that was you.

He still separated us.

No more of the #hypothetical,

When that's all that's left.

#vss365

irritated

 

The chit-chat was cordial at first. 

I asked about her guy, the wimp. Got a report of "the hunk". That irritated me. 

I shared my theoretical wisdom about matrimony and also #hypothetical cases where the guy ditched the girl at the last moment. That irritated her.

#vss365

(Borrowed from 'Spouse without Benefits' : https://justoneavatar.blogspot.com/2014/02/spouse-without-benefits.html )

The Altar

 

Within, in a space

Neither dead nor alive,

There's a spyware:  

Soulware or, The Altar.

There lies #dormant our secrets,

The love we don't recognize,

The grain in the chaff,

That we get when none's given.

To access The Altar

Ego, Or Id, or whatever,

Delete

The rest.

#vss365

Flacid Fall

 

Man : "I've just mopped the house and you expect me to have sex!?"

Woman : "I just wondered (with no metaphor intended) why the mop seems to be in suspended animation, a #dormant object for eternity, that flaccid fall with not even a limp urge."

#vss365

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2021/nov/10/the-great-turn-off-has-covid-put-single-men-off-sex

saga

 

Let me erase 

the #saga I wrote,

Let me escape

to the darker side.

Those lost words,

those lost thoughts,

The search for the one

Who knows it's about her.

#vss365

chaos & white noise

 

The haphazard,

The white noise,

We call

god

At times.

primrose

 

"Remember Prim Rose?"

"That plant?"

"Idiot...Prim Rose...in school!"

"Ah!"

"The rose of my life."

"We fought over her, didn't we?"

"How she laughed..."

"That laugh..."

"Why did we call her Prim?"

"She was wild."

"But, we didn't know what a #primrose was."

#vss365

fingerprints

 

"Like Caeser," SI Anu noted.

"A dozen stabs less," Insp. Shokie said.

"CM must have been killed by the 11 ministers in that meeting."

"But, the 11 daggers have one set of #fingerprints, that of the absent minister."

"Elementary..." 

Shokie's cold glare interrupted.

#vss365

logout

 

With this, lemme logout 

(and you too) 

and take a look outside

Oh I know I will

race back here

Seeing the crappy lot 

Out there.

snowflake

 

An old love of mine, she 

Took a lot of pages

Of poetry about 

Her true grit,

Strength, 

Yes, she 

Took a lot of pages.

Years have gone by

That #snowflake

And its fractal intricacy

That love vanished   

When I got to know 

Her best friend, she too

Took a lot of pages.

#vss365

campfire

 

In my concrete gaol

I have everything;

Can I open the window,

Can I look outside?

There's BCL, Fountain, Gateway, 

A path by the sea, can I get there?

A stroll on the Embankment, to Tate?

Maybe not a #campfire in the park!

In my concrete gaol

My mind has nothing.

#vss365

Spite

 

I've done it again-

Self-destructed, 

To ease the pain,

Soothing hatred.

Killed nine lives

And more, to spite

The One whose knives

Carved me right.

I had it all

In my past 

Money and girl 

And lost fast.

No more flipping 

The hour-glass cursed,

No more slipping

Hope for days blessed.

 

sugarcoat

 

"I am in love," my son declared.

"Bah!" his sis said.

We did not know what to say.

"Son, aren't you too young?" my wife said.

"I haven't got a condom to spare," I blurted out and got a kick.

"Ewww, you all have a one-track mind...which one...#sugar-coated donut or the choc one...hmmm," he said.

"Neither," his sis and I said, reaching for those.

#vss365

crow

 

They say you bring souls

visiting for not too long.

I have placed a meal

For you then, for them.

They say the eagle 

Outsmarts you by flying 

High till you are left

Breathless, like me.

They don't say much

About us, do they,

With the pretty around,

We crows don't care, do we?

sleepwalk

 

Them in the government

Try to divide us,

Keep us senseless us

In caged settlement.

We oblige, #sleepwalk 

Thro' life, blind et al.

Fight all thoughtless all

To rise dead in our wake.

#vss365

 

foreshadow

 

"String-hoppers and mutton stew?" she asked.

"Nope, idli-sambhar," I replied.

She frowned.

I was dumb the morning after the first night, ignoring the future #foreshadow-ed by that exchange. 

But, not for long.

Next morn,

"Pancakes and maple syrup?"

"Yes, ma'am."

#vss365

prompt : inscape

 

Googled

the meaning

of #inscape.

Nope!

That doesn't

mean much.

Unique

and

inner nature?

Bah!

That doesn't 

mean much.

My love's #inscape?

I've overdosed

On that #prompt.

Yeah!

That does

mean much.

#vss365

shooing away

 

Have you ever met a psychologist 

And done the Rorschach inkblot test?

The gymnast is facing a mirror, I said. 

That spook kept his poker face.

I could have told him what Google

Told me to say. C'est la vie. 

Inviting straight jacket,

Shooing freedom away. On a whim.

et tu

 

This bud reminds me

Of a love I once wasted.

Et tu, God. Et tu.

Coincidence

  

Certain things should not happen together.

For example, saying “I am in love with you.” and “When I was your age, you were not yet born.”. To be explained later.

It was a lovely day. The first rain of the year, that too heavy. Autorickshaw still managed to cover the eight kilometres to office in forty minutes. Only one passing car sprayed water. The first Mumbai drain water on my face but not in my mouth.

By early evening, it was not so lovely. My boss wanted me to pack my bags and leave the office. A head-hunter with my resume had forwarded the same to my company and (bless the nitwit for finding the right match) to my boss. It took half an hour of fervent begging to keep my job. I was left a lot like Bond’s drink, shaken and stirred, was it not?

In between that episode, I had got two messages, both from ‘MIL’. The first said, “My dear son, sorry short notice. Reach Mumbai dom air pot at 7 pm.” The second said, “7. Airport.”

I told my boss my mother-in-law was coming to town. He offered sincere condolences and reluctantly reinstated me in my job.

I got to the airport at 7:15. I did not have to apologize.

“Sorry for troubling you, my dear.”

“Why are you late?”

And, I replied to both, “What are you two doing here?”

You might feel as lost as I was without a bit of history.

One, I should not have put their numbers under the same ‘MIL’. Two, the sweet-sounding one is the remnant of the one who had to go; and the other, that of the one who left.

It is tough to introduce them better. While my former better halves do not want to have anything to do with me, their mothers had their reasons to keep in touch. I remember vaguely that they did not turn out to be like their daughters. While their daughters were rational and religious, they were religious and rational respectively. Of course, that would have helped only if I knew which was which.

Introductions were not required. They knew of each other in that saga of betrayal. We made our way to my apartment. They sat at the dining table expecting me to do the needful.

Beguiling, I thought, not realizing how beguiling it could really be.

I did what I could. I called the third number under ‘MIL’.

Again, history calls. I was a happy bachelor for a long time, not before but after my first two forays into matrimony. Then, two old friends pressured me to upset the steady cart. One was on the wrong side of 50 when he knotted himself to a 30-ish. The other was 40-plus 50-minus when he entered into coy matrimony with a sub-30. They told me that the old regency ways were fashionable yet again. Women these days want, they displayed a classified ad: “a man who can handle himself, cook, manage house; a bit low on pick-up, a bit high on empathy to compensate; experienced, financially independent, low on ambition, short of time, company for not too long”. And, my peers added, “They are exactly what we need.”

I bit that apple. I nearly spoiled the taste with the afore-mentioned two lines at the start of this report.

My friends were right. My wife is a busy professional. We see each other when she is in town. She is hardly a bother. She coaxed me into putting our reproductive material in cold storage. She plans to use it only in her 40’s when she is ready for that. I found my soul-mate through her. That is, her mother.

Now, that is a really lovely character. And, it was her who I called in my time of need.

“Will be there, pronto,” she replied sweetly, succinctly.

The door-bell rang twenty minutes later. For the second time that evening, I said, “What are you two doing here?”

I hate to do this but history, once again, is the need of the hour.

A few months back, my wife surprised me with the question, “Do you think we should try an open relationship?”

For a moment I forgot that women are prone to such rhetorical questions.

It was a moment too long because I had blurted out, “Yes.”

Don’t ask me why I wanted an open relationship. Men do go to places no man should go to. To cut the story short, she gave a curt nod.

I have not enquired if she has explored that realm. It is sufficient, and necessary, to say that I tried my luck online.

On one site where one has to swipe right and left, I found one match.

Our profiles matched because of the single line in our bio, ‘Love cooking’.

Our chat was definitely risqué:

-Can’t wait to try it with you.

-Same here.

-Will you come here?

-Your house?

-Where else?

-Of course.

-I will get the kitchen ready.

-You prefer the kitchen?

-Where else?

-Of course.

I went to her house. Her mother opened the door and told me, “She had to go with her husband. His father caught Covid. Sad case. She told me to take her place.”

Before I could protest, she dragged me to the kitchen. It was a pleasure-filled hour cooking Hyderabadi biriyani.

Again, don’t ask me where it had gone wrong or right.

I have not yet seen that Covid-displaced daughter but her mother and I have tried out many a recipe since then, at her place and mine. Her number is also under ‘MIL’.

And, she was there at mine that lovely night to try out jerk chicken.

Do you actually think the Grim Reaper is a haggard figure in drab clothing riding a dark horse waving an unwieldy scythe in the dark on a cold winter night?

I had the Grim Reaper in front of me: four mothers-in-law seated together at my dining table.

  

slippery time

 

Or, within the confines 

of lockdowns and such,

Did we lose sense of time,

Did we let life slip away,

Uncaring, grasping too little?

Why

 

Why didn't I 

Say I love you;

Why did I 

Leave you alone;

Why did you

Trust me;

Why didn't you

Leave me alone;

Why didn't we

Stay longer;

Why did we 

End up alone?

torture

 

There are days

when I know

no one 

will listen 

to me.

Yes,

days

when I know 

and 

days

when I ignore.

I had 

such days

even 

with you.

You 

said later

you wanted

to 

torture me.

You 

remain

a 

torture.

The others

a pain

I can

ignore.

"I think"

 

No two words scare me more than "I think",

That precursor to confusion and danger.

Is it the comedy or the gravity of the situation,

Is it the human at the root of the problem?

That precursor to confusion and danger:

When he said, "I think we love the same girl,"

(Is it the human at the root of the problem?)

When I tried to defuse that bomb, "I think I love her not."

When he said, "I think we love the same girl,"

Did he not assume his thought and feeling outweighed all?

When I tried to defuse that bomb, "I think I love her not,"

Why did I assume it mattered what I thought?

Did he not assume his thought and feeling outweighed all,

On that day he twisted facts, ignored truth and incited a riot?

Why did I assume it mattered what I thought

And forgot that my action mattered most?

On that day he twisted facts, ignored truth and incited a riot,

I chose to dwell on lighter stuff

And forgot that my action mattered most

To the ones who would die in the days to come.

I chose to dwell on lighter stuff,

(His girl was religion and nation, I didn't know?)

To the ones who would die in the days to come

I turned my back to protect my life's love.

His girl was religion and nation, I didn't know

Even when he ridiculed, called me a traitor.

I turned my back to protect my life's love,

Now why would that be, I think?

Even when he ridiculed, called me a traitor,

I kept him as a friend, a jester.

Now why would that be, I think

I was saving myself from myself.

I kept him as a friend, a jester.

So dangerous it has turned out to be.

I was saving myself from myself,

With no guts to face our femme fatale.

So dangerous it has turned out to be,

No two words scare me more than "I think",

With no guts to face our femme fatale,

The gravity of the situation I took as comedy.

What was it...

 

What was it about you 

That caught my eye and my mind?

The way you walk or

When you slept (well, didn't you say?)

Leaning against me

Or...I don't know...I miss you.

Buried Alive

 

We died the day we found a god splendid,

We had no time to fear, no time to spare,

Buried alive in grave unmarked, my kid!

We weren't the saddest case, the people said,

My friend's twins, they found tender loving care,

They died the day we found a god splendid.

To ease our pain there were more tales horrid,

Of houses and families all laid bare,  

Buried, alive in grave unmarked, my kid!

The day after was bright lovely sun-kissed,

Almost forgot, erased, the day before,

The day we died and found a god splendid.

The tourists are back, the quarries are bombed, 

The green a veil, the damned silent river

Buried alive, in grave unmarked, my kid!

Remain we will on slopes fragile, to skid

When rains will bring old plans disposed, terror,

A day splendid to find a new god dead,

Buried alive in grave unmarked, my kid.

The Riddle of the Time Machine

 

I bought a time-machine.

Killed Hitler.

Visited Atlantis and Pompeii.

Stopped my parents from marrying.

I came back to the present.

I am still there.

Customer service says, 

"Sorry. No refund."

This particular problem in fiction has been troubling me. As much as the doppelganger-should-die issue.

'Standard' fiction with time-machines usually has these rules: do not mess with your own past to kill your present; mess with your future to correct your present.

Somehow, I fear, the present will be preserved irrespective of what you do in the past or in the future. 

Let's call it the Riddle of the Time Machine.

Circle or Helix

At Malabar Hotel, near PaiCo:

 

We said "Two Wills" at the door, 

"Two strong coffee" at our table;

Swaggered to the kitchen to light,

Young cowboys with mean looks,

Slurped coffee in stain'd crack'd cups,

Our whiskey shots to face tough life,

Talked about Anju's tits and Anu's hips:

"What is the omega in sine omega t?"

We were not dumb, he and I,

Quiz aficionados et al. actually.

He had Jane's handbook on planes,

I had Manorama yearbook and more,

We knew all about Wilfred Owen, 

Lady Chatterley, WW1, WW2 too, 

Kamikazes, Woodstock, 'Nam, 

The Beat crowd, Pirsig, madness,

Watergate, Deep Throat, both kinds!

We could recite the Gita and the Bible,

We did not know the Ramanan of that Changam-chap,

But we knew our local politicians, that's family;

We did not trust VoA or Sputnik, but BBC was ok

For the music, the plays and the news, was it?

We knew what to believe. We did not know our PM.

We knew when we had choice,

We knew our free will well,

We did not fuck ourselves.

We did not touch on heritage or discrimination.

We knew we had to go abroad to be accepted here.

We did fight over something. What did we fight about?

Before I forget, let me tell you

We were not sure about anything.

That saved us, believe me!

Malabar Hotel is no more, PaiCo too:

We don't smoke, we don't drink strong coffee,

We have had two wives, one kid, a few lovers,

All premarital we swear, believe us,

Extramarital would be tougher fiction.

We have been husbands, widower, divorcee,

Maybe a murderer, no just a killer.

We have lived, loved and let go. 

We have fought for women. Cursed by a few.

We could be trash. We are not all bad.

We should not complain when we have been us.

We still don't talk about commies or fascists.

Is it their salute that embarrasses us?

Or did we expect them to be gone by now?

We don't touch the losers either,

They just won't do whatever, right?

We know all about the shit that happens.

He talks about his heritage, his new citizenship.

I talk about my lot, about perceptions common.

That's old guys' stuff. That's nothing new.

But he's uncomfortable, I notice.

It's not just me who is scared of me.

We talk about the new ones, the dangerous ones,

Who talk about heritage without changing citizenship,

Who talk about discrimination, believe what they say.

You sound a lot like them, he accuses.

If he can be sure about all, why can't I?

He accuses the majority of thinking like the minority.

Why can't the minority take the load of the majority,

I counterattack. Did we fight about this then?

Did that fight come back to haunt us?

Is that our hope too, the cyclical,

The circle of life, with its Yin and Yang?

Maybe, Malabar Hotel will rise again. Maybe not PaiCo.

Will entropy reduce here? At another's expense?

There is no escape from this circle of hate, is there?

We want to talk about Anu's tits and Anju's hips.

But what if the circle escapes into the unknown 3d,

Will this cycle of hate return to good only after us:

"What is the omega in sine omega t?"

love letters

 

Your love letters,

after a few years,

will be shared

with friends 

and spouses.

It will be 

a lovely

party joke.

Don't fret.

You will be 

invited

to that party,

joker.

The Mob

 

The Mob rules everything.

If that is democracy,

We are really screwed.

#haiku ?

sole or soul

 

That which wears out should

Be cause for thought, not the rest.

Only fiction lasts.

#haiku ?

collage

 

For collage contest:

"Bunker bombing killed 1000".

Just that news. Didn't win.

#haiku ?

30 years back & Now

 

30 years back, I wrote to her:

"Her dark hair straying across that beauteous face,

Black eyes filled dim, alight yet through the full race,

Tear stained cheeks glistening like moonlit waters anew,

Long wet lashes as reaching branches dripping dew,

Blood stained lips trembling, lucky breath to kiss her tender,

Yet not touching, harming her no more but silent yearn render."

Now, I write to her:

"Woman, do not smirk at my words 30 years old.

Yes, the wet lashes were mine and was I nervous!

Remember our first meeting? You congratulated me

For a race or a speech. And I replied, "Same to you."

I cursed every moment I did not have you, believe me.

Remember that drunken night I left you to be with my buddies?

At 6:00, I went to the coffee-stall for a strong filter-kaapi,

At 6:10, I knocked at your door, woke you up, kissed you.

All you said was, "Nice coffee." Did I go back to my buddies?

We were never into PDA, were we? Even in dotage.

We liked our secrets to be our secrets. 

Remember when you acted like a stranger, sexy in saree

Sashaying to the kerbside, attracting not just me,

I whistled and leered, the guys around ready to lynch me

When I said, "What a belly!" And you replied, "Same to you."

You fought all the tough battles. 

All I had to do was not to trip you.

I was no knight ready to die for you.

But, without you, I am ready to die."

Relatives of Our Times

 

I have relatives who wear the Brahmin thread,

I have relatives who were called "kuravan" (low-caste),

Served outside and all that crap.

I have relatives who pray at the famous mosques and churches

of Tvm. I avoid those and Padmanabhaswamy Temple.

I won't tell you where I go. I don't want you there.

I have relatives who did some good for others.

If they were told to correct their views 

Because society did not like it, they did not listen.

I have this cute relative who does social work.

He is with a small political party of Central Tranvancore.

The small ones are the best to get funds, he says.

I have relatives who are communists,

I have relatives who are not that but are the same,

Ready to kiss any ass for the sake of business and kids. 

I have relatives who converted for better prayers.

They still seem the same to me

When they serve good food.

I have relatives who converted others for love.

There was a sad case of a girl cheated I could do little.

She was not in love with me.

I met you

 

I met you 

after I met my first love.

That was a disaster.

Not you.

She talked about her first love.

Not me!

I met you 

after I met my first sweetheart.

That could have gone better.

We are too good friends,

I said to her.

What an idiot!

I met you

when I knew so much

And still an idiot.

Did I tell you

about the lovely one I met

after I met you?

howling at the moon

 

Why am I howling 

at the moon early morning?

The night never ends.

#haiku ?

Immature Love

 

When I write about you, to you,

Why am I the man I was to you?

Never the man I have to be,

The proper and mature me.

Sharing sexist jokes and wet dreams,

Coffee-tinged kisses, muffled screams.

Did I grope in the dark, also in sight?

Was it too rough when you held tight?

An act, a god-damned no-encore play,

Even when I pulled the plug our last day.

In the dark, it’s still our old ways, laugh and talk and kiss,

With few truths and lots of lies, the immature love I miss.

Before the darkness

 

Told you I love you,

When the sun was not yet gone,

Before the darkness.

#haiku ?

The Equation

 

The day he lost his job,

She fought with her boss.

At home, he said something,

She too said something.

Years later, 

They laughed

Over those somethings.

Or

They forgot about those.

Or

They used those with others.

Or

They let it fester on its own.

If

They were together 

Or 

Not.

Love

Equals

Indifference

Minus

Random Events

(Good 

Or 

Bad

To

One

Or

Both).

Ghosts

 

I met an ex.

Bitterly I stabbed:

"Happy with HIM?

Does HE do cnuninlingus 

As well as I did, 

right after breakfast,

For that kick start to a day?"

I felt love too:

"I still have Chikoo,

remember our stuffed toy?

I touch him to touch you."

If I had said all that,

you would have replied,

"When did I become not dead to you?"

We just walked by.

I smiled at the lady saying FU on her phone,

My ex nodded at the guy with a Maserati.

This world is full of phallci symbols and ghosts.

Best part of writing

 

The best part of writing:

when a reader takes my love poem 

as hate speech.

O my baby has life!

When everyone ignores,

that's fine. When there are likes

And not one word of dissent

Especially from a mate;

I feel like an influencer

with a cult, too stupid 

not to disband the lot.

Hate by the Hour

 

When I'm nice, I hate by the hour.

Guys hiding behind beards for breakfast, 

Lasses with lovely lips in chaste locks later,

Sandlewood paste, thread, lower, upper, caste, class,

Anything goes. I don't need news. I hate 

The virtuous too, give me a pimp any day.

I am not a fan of that four-letter-L-word.

That's like placing a bet at roulette.

Single number, column, black or red, fixed?

I need info. I need returns. Hate is easier.

Black n White

 

I have a friend of mixed breed.

It likes its Aryan roots.

O how friendly they are!

It hates its Negroid roots.

Narrow-minded creeps they are!

I am narrow-minded, I know.

I am not friendly, I know.

How many wars have we fought?

Did you take me as refugee?

I did not see my puppy eyes

On the front page, anywhere.

Not my obituary either.

Rejection Letter

I am sorry

to say

your love poems

and stories

do not interest me

because

your love is 

not original

it is just a repetition

of what we were taught

of what we think

as love.

Do not trouble me

till you can think

till you can 

love.

love's mental

 

i mailed a love.

she replied:

“meet a shrink.”

i met a shrink.

he told me:

“you need love.”

i realized then.

the big lie:

“love’s mental.”

(title: do you need an emoji to understand love?)

love vs arranged

 

Love marriage is easy

(if you have met the half-good person)

You have shared the same toilet

You know which drawer has the cash

You know how the knickers (his or hers) fall.

Arranged marriage is tough

(if you meet the half-bad person)

You get one look at the toilet, if you are lucky

You have to believe in love and trust (and cash?)

You don't even know if there are knickers to fall.

#WritingCommunity

hate love

 

I hate love poems

All that crap stuff, missing et al.

When she left

I did not cry I did not

I don't remember 

When I ripped her bra

How she laughed

Do I remember

Her head against me

I hate all that

All that crap stuff, missing et al.

#WritingCommunity

O Guru

 Concise trans. (modified):

"Encourage building of educational institutions (if you must have temples, keep it small). We are one, with no restrictions on mingling. Look in the mirror. If you see darkness, there is no point in praying."

-Sree Narayana Guru, 1856-1928

it ain't

 

i have a problem

with poets & writers

who call themselves

poets & writers.

it’s just

another job.

it ain’t.

envious

 

How many wars have we fought,

Not for a cause (just or not),

Envious of a friend's gain,

Destroying (for nought or pain)?

first kiss

 

Remember first kiss?

Lingering touch (probing lick)?

Cute, god-envying. Damned!

postman

 

I waited for the postman, for the love letter He forgets to bring.

holding

 

"She has gone," they say,

"You hold just a memory."

Without that, I'm dead.

#haiku ? 

merged seasons

 

i thought we would climb

(when our love merged all seasons)

these steps together.

#haiku ?

love poems

 

when did i stop 

writing love poems?

was it a few years

after you left?

or when they accused

i would not let you go?

did i find a loophole

in your case against me?

how do i convince 

myself i did not kill you?

girl child

 

A kid next door

Shouts with glee,

"I got 20 out of 20."

The parents, grandparents,

Even neighbours, kiss, hug,

Wish her "good luck".

When will they tell her

To be a mother, a wife.

"Enough is enough."

Will she decide

Not to have a girl child

Who gets 20 out of 20?

 

#girlchild

Grandma's trains

 

Grandma used trains for meals.

Morning shuttle (from?) : breakfast.

Express (from Madras?) : lunch.

Night shuttle (from?) : dinner.

Not for morning coffee, porridge at 11,

Evening tea or snacks from tins anytime.

The same trains might be there.

Grandma's gone. Me too (nearly).

2034

 

In ‘2034’, the sequel to George Orwell’s ‘1984’, we find Big Brother depressed. Everyone seems to be doing only wrong stuff. Everyone’s watching p#rn, talking of b#mbs, planning *n*rchy. Big B is going crazy. Meanwhile, Big Corporation is lobbying for a law which makes corrupt data illegal. People are strapping Fitbit on their pets or in-laws, they claim. AI behaves like NI, totally bewildered, absolutely useless. It is not right to make the artificial natural, Big C protests. And yes, Pegasus is p&gged.

I miss You

In a godforsaken railway station,

In a state deprived of its demon,

I found beautiful writing:

I miss you.

Season 1

 Once upon a time, we tried to change Indian marriage.

No dowry. Parents used the money-gifts for wedding. 

The couple lived on their own. 

One person earned about $300 per month, the other little more.

No house-helps. No outside help to bring up kids.

(Rest in Season 2.)

Is That How You Lived

 

I wish I was young again,

To be a hypocrite with great one-liners.

I still try that stunt,

But the clever ask, "Is that how you lived?"

That's tougher than when they call me stupid,

Or when they try sarcasm, "Wow! Your great words!"

I won't tell you the good I thought or did,

I will have to tell you how really stupid I lived.