Saturday, February 26, 2011


The innate madness of living on your whims and fancies; she was alien to it. Claimed to be valued, meant to be taken for granted. Her day decided by others, her dwelling chosen by fate. A wanted company or an unwanted bother; it depended on 'them'. She was busy for the day when 'they' needed her. Else lost and forgotten in an enclosure 12 ft x 14ft x 10ft. Her own little space? No, a shared one. She taught lessons of self-worth to others. Her own dignity in shambles. The war between dignity and the fear of hurt and loss; every moment a battle. She lost both ways. Who gained? Pleasing others, her motive her only source of joy. That acknowledgment, a gifted boon.   

Her life was never her own. A puppet in the hands of others. Every moment, a compromise.
Was it patience that keeps her going or was it the silence before a storm?

Monday, February 21, 2011

These days of loneliness

These days of loneliness have taught me more about myself. My inner strengths and weaknesses. What I can live with and what I claim I can't live without.

These days of loneliness have taught me about people. How much they have been there. About circumstances and selflessness.

These days of loneliness have made me intolerant, increasingly moody, maybe even fussy. Taught me on adjustments and sacrifices and the importance of patience.

These days of loneliness have healed some wounds, made me immune to some hurts. Made me love and hate. Made me laugh and cry.

These days of loneliness are not what I sought, they just keep coming. Brought me closer to those I distanced myself from. New ties beckon, old grudges fading.

These days of loneliness, show me what life would have been had you not been. Made me love you more and miss you less.

These days of loneliness, I wish they would fly.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

In him, I see you


When I saw him exchanging rings, I remembered the first time I held him in my arms. That twinkle in your eye as you pulled his soft red cheeks. Those eyes, fish shaped like yours. My dark brown hair with your tiny curls. My nose and your lips. My complexion and your frame. Our blood. Our newborn.

He gurgled in a muffled tone. His tiny pink fingers just long enough to hold your fingers. Your hand that never grew too big for mine, your arms his fatherly abode. How his crankiness diminished with that touch! I had a tear in my eye, it was joy. Our bundle of joy.

The journey that started from the first time he uttered 'mamma' and your desperation to hear him call out to you as well. The days when you carried him on your back and fulfilled his never ending demands. His schooling and college years, from a rebellious teen to a mature adult. Sneaky dates with his college sweetheart, now ending in blissful matrimony. A mamma's boy or a papa's pet?

30 years have flown by, I see glimpses of you, of me, of us. I see in him my patience and your tact, a mix of your aggression and my submission, my practicality and your emotions, my sense of adventure and your notions of safety. Your love for food and my love for art. Our genes, a hybrid indeed.

Most importantly, a living replica of the man I shared wedding vows with 35 years ago. At this very church, at this very time. The man of my life who promised to hold my hand lifelong, whose shoulder still supports my withering frame.

The most wonderful gift of my life that you gave me... My son.

I Love You 

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The unspoken

We think some things are better unspoken.
Not really... ;-)
Conversations that get you closer to me. And yet, I have so much to tell you.
Hope I never run out of words for you.

You hate my quietude, don't you?

Saturday, February 12, 2011

The coin

And without much ado, he hurled the coin into the sea.
It sank as droplets of water rushed to its surface. It took away all the memories it signified, all the moments that they had lived for. And now that she was no more, it had to go back to where it came from. Where she found it one evening in May.

They were probably collecting sea shells at sunset when she found it lodged in a huge white conch. Fascinated at the lovely inscription on it, she decided to take it home. Molded from a metal rare, he had never seen that kind before. A two headed man with two tails. Hands larger than the tentacles of an octopus. "Artistic", she called it. An alien script arousing wonder and curiosity. It looked so harmless.

A series of untoward happenings. A year of utter misfortunes and losses. The greatest loss, the loss of life. He knew it was the coin that had snatched her away into the ghastly jaws of death. Having got rid of that cursed object, he felt at peace. He had never felt so lighter since its arrival.

Little did she know, it was the sign of death.
Little did he know he wasn't alive anymore.

Friday, February 11, 2011

The masked maiden

Embracing the front, stabbing the back
A countenance of sweetness vast
A body of lies, a mind of a traitor
Shielding shadows of the past

Covered with the veil of innocence
Wearing the mask of hypocrisy
Her closet full of hidden skeletons
Twisted tales with sheer intricacy

Living in an ignorant, indifferent bliss
Tears that put crocodiles to shame
That smile worth a broken heart
Seeking sympathy, her favorite game

What did she gain cheating her own?
Gifted with money, love and looks
Now called sly, shrewd and cunning
Her life defies the open books

How many mortals yet to be fooled?
How long would those tactics survive?
How many stinging revelations until
One day someone would burn that hive

Tuesday, February 8, 2011


Words can be healers, words can be weapons,
Words lead to vows, words break promises,
Words lead to silences, silences lead to words,
Words can be written, words can be said,
Words strike a thought, words pierce a heart,
Words create laughter, words reconcile,

Words are a blessing to mankind,
Yet, we make curses out of them.

Words once uttered cannot be taken back.
So, be careful what you blab and to whom.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Answers in poetry

As the poet rightly states, "It is upto you to give us our liberty or make us tame" (The Animals' Chorus)

Tagore quipped, "The traveller has to knock at every door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end" (Geetanjali)

Or the Shakespearean, "All the World's a stage and all men and women merely players" (As you like it)

Poems truly give you those hidden messages
Those answers to the many questions that life poses time and again.