Arbitrary Obsessions. Cities. History. Music. Feminism. Maami-isms. Patterns. Halwa. Identities. Free Verse. The Internets.

Pets, pigs and dreams

I turn 28 in a week’s time, and I never thought I would be dog-less at this age. But having grown up with dogs in the house, I know it’s a huge responsibility. It’s also a matter of space. And with all the travel that comes with my job, how can I have any animal [...]

Coal, mines and beauty

A couple of weeks back I found myself in Germany. More specifically – in Cologne. Now Germany has never been on my must-go-to map, except perhaps Berlin. There’s very little I actually know about that country. Except perhaps random pieces of useless information about politics and history. I guess in my mind, I never equated [...]

Lights. More lights.

Finally, Deepawali is over a weekend. Something intrinsically wrong about getting up and having to go to work on a day I associate with afternoon snooze and a lovely breakfast. Among other things, I’m recovering from the flu, and the constant cough and cold makes me feel like I am in Delhi. Mostly because the [...]

On Forever-ness

In Turkey, I spent a half hour immersed in watching the dervishes whirl. Much like India, tourism in Turkey is saturated with folk and cultural motifs, and everyone wants to sell you an authentic experience.
Sitting in that 11th century sarai, I thought I could watch the dervishes whirl forever. And that happens quite often [...]

Poem: Sitting in a Theatre

Sitting in a theatre, mostly empty.
Perhaps this is how I like films.
From the front row. The screen
eating me. No commentary.
But not silent.
Exactly how life should be perhaps.
Front row, clean, with space.
But not empty enough to be creepy.
And perhaps a warm (even if clammy)
hand. To hold. Tighter when it’s time.
And Exit signs clearly marked.
Even in [...]

Poem: A Holy River

At the holy river, by the ghats,
Mother sheds her usual shame.
She wears her black petticoat.
Her numerous sins. And little else.
The little one is asked to join.
For even at six, one has aleady -
stolen, lied, kissed and cheated.
Her father guards the clothes.
Dirt sticks to her tiny feet.
But she is told that this is holy.
The river, the [...]

Poem: Baby Destroyer

We look up, and see Shiva.
In this form, he looks different.
He is cherubic. With fatty thighs.
A belly, unrestrained. Full of milk.
And what bulges like pure butter.
(Perhaps they wanted Krishna?)
What would a child destroy?
Small things. Irrelevant things.
Broken easily. Available in plenty.
Like little glass tumblers. Or
nibs of ink pens. And random
nameless hearts, already fragile.