Monday, April 30, 2007


Summer time
All fruits disappear
The king of fruits arrives
Mangoes flock
the market stocks
I see them all around
At every street
At every signal
The urchins run behind
Every car
Offering the yellowish
Green, pulpy fruit

Speaking, er… writing
Of mangoes, sorry sir
I no like mangoes
Nor I care
My visitors no understand
And bring in a heap
They lie in my kitchen
On a shelf,
in pitiful state.
I wait in vain
For guest to arrive
Who would slurp
These mangoes
Before they crumple
And lose their grace.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Am I a bad writer?

I paint on
Staining the canvas
with disjointed words
Sans punctuations or spell check
Pouring my emotions
Into meaningful colors that
Shuffle like a jigsaw puzzle
To form a rainbow that seems
To you as an
‘ Incomplete art’.

I understand it all.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Chuma! chuma! aie la!

Ole Richard kissed Shilpa Shetty
Liya Diyaa oh
And that kiss lasted two full minutes
Liya Diyaa oh

With lorries here and police there
All getting horny, burning effigies
Public going berserk everywhere

Ole Richard kissed Shilpa Shetty
Liya Diyaa oh
So they got sued for a crime
Liya Diyaa oh


I looked for happiness
Travelled for miles
But nothing could compare
With the joy I derived
from bringing out my slate
and re-reading those pieces
that so laboriously
I wrote each day.

Happiness was immense
Reality was a farce,
A unhappy jungle
with no signposts,
landmarks or boundries.
I would just walk on.

In writings
I lived into my dreams
with my own government
and my own rules
I made war,
I made peace
but the rules of my land
were that
The happiness rules!

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

A Gentleman

What can I say of a man
Who is a gem?
His gentlemanly ways
Impress me everyday.

He holds my arm in protective way
Smiles or grins at my silly ways
Cancels his appointment
To be with me
Makes a fuss
Just to please me
Calls on nights and days
To check if I am alright
I wish to thank him so
I decide to write…

Searching for me when I am lost
stands far away when
I tell him to get lost
but never meanders away too far
He never is out of range

On Rakhis’ days, and festive days
He comes to me
with Gifts and Honey
and a firm promise
that he believes in
protecting me against all odds.

Joking, laughing, all in sprite
When his moods are warm and bright
I dig under my manuscripts
Of endless yellow-stained pages
to show him what
I write.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Dear Publisher........

Hello Mr Publisher
Have you ever
learnt to dream?
Have you walked
on an arc of rainbow?
Have you heard
window plants sing?

Here, sweep a glance,
Through this script
Taste the words
Swallow the drops
Of emotional words.

If you really like it
How about
buying the script from me…?
I need some money
For coffee and tea.

Books' gossip....

Surrounded by scripts,
notes and drills
Listening to the manuscripts

Said Bestseller to a Paperback
Here are more writers
Be aware

Sitting around us in cane chairs
They chatter and blabber
Without a care

Clock strucks five
Hear their names, let them
Enjoy their two-minute fame

I-T, Florist, Tarot queen,
Have you , so many talents

Ooooh! La! La!
Do you feel the thrill?
They are here for a refill!

See that Rohin’ tough and proud
Commands the script,
leading the crowd

Suni-Jugal! hear! hear! all!
One lazily stretched,
while other clicks on

Crazy moods and silly expressions
Helplessly trapped
Glued into a film

Tea/coffee sip what may
Look they waste
No time today!

One by one,
their stories call
For nod, or smile or betrayal laugh

New uns’ stare at ole uns’ around
happy to have found
a ground.

Young writers are alert and smart
Ready to grasp
the cliches that fall

Meet is over and
still they meander
Staring at our sisters’ walls.

(Pssht! Nudge’sh!) I heard them say
They plan to come back
Once again!

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Mysterious Affair

She stepped onto the deserted platform and looked about her. She felt the drop of perspiration drip slowly down her back. Where did Mr. Murthy disappear? Damn! There was so much traffic on the road, with cars, auto rickshaws, bullock carts, cows and hand-carts, all occupying the same strip of the road! If only she had followed him discretely but kept a safe distance!

She fumbled into her bag and fished out the cell phone.

“Hello Mrs. Murthy. I lost him again.” She whispered into the phone.

“Oh! No! Search him! I need to know where he is going. I heard him talking to somebody on phone this morning. Whom does he meet on a Sunday mornings at this hour?”

Urmi looked at her watch. 9 o’clock. The morning sun was warm and pleasant. She walked up to an empty seat and sat down. ‘Patience’, that was the first lesson she had learnt at ‘Rammu detective agency’, who took up the most challenging assignments, cases ranged from financial and property thefts to government overthrows to murder to infidelity. And the agents always got their man (and woman)

It was better to wait here. Maybe, he might come here if he has to go to town by train.
She removed a magazine from her hand bag and started to leaf through its pages.

“Hi, excuse me puhleez, may I share your seat?”

Wow! Holy Cow! She couldn’t believe her luck. Mr. Murthy wanted to sit next to her.

“Er…! Of course! Please!” she said as she shifted to the end of the seat.

Mr Murthy wiped his thick brow as he looked from left to right.

“Are you new here?” he asked casually as he neatly folded his kerchief and pushed it into his pocket.

“Yes.” She said as she shifted her gaze from his long stretched legs

She heard the horn of the approaching train, few more people had gathered at the station.

They got into the train and sat facing each other.

While the train moved, they talked of many different things… when they reached the town after an hour; they were chatting as though they were old pals.

“Would like to join me for a coffee? I have fifteen minutes to kill.” He said as they crossed the street at the green signal.

“Are you meeting some-one?” She couldn’t help asking.

“Yes. Just a friend.” He smiled and he passed his hand through his thick brown hair.

They had coffee in silence, enjoying the jazz from the juke box.

He shook her hand and took leave of her. She followed his movement as she saw him enter a dental clinic that was facing the side lane.

She waited in the coffee shop and ordered more cups. She saw him leave the clinic after an hour. It was time to follow him to see where else would he go now. She followed him discreetly as he walked towards the station and boarded a return train.

‘He came all the way to meet a dentist? Eh?’ she wondered. He had said ‘a friend’, not ‘doctor’? ‘But why didn’t he say that he was visiting a dentist?’ ‘Was she a lover?’ ‘Was he unfaithful to his wife?’ Should she inform Mrs. Murthy?

She decided to investigate. She went back to the clinic and read the nameplate that said “Dr Suman Dutt’ she went inside to speak to the receptionist.

“Is Mr. Murthy in?” she asked innocently.

“Mr. Murthy? What about him?”

“I need to meet him.” She said

“Meet him next week. He just left.”

“You mean to say that he comes here regularly? Why?”

“Sorry Maam, it’s personal. I cannot discuss with you.” She said as she continued to look into her files.

For next 2 months, she watched from a coffee shop, and saw him enter the clinic regularly, and she was convinced that Mr. Murthy had more than one reason to visit his dentist.

“Mrs. Murthy. You were right. It is serious!” she spoke on phone, giving her all the details. “You can confront them.”

“Oh Miya Goodnesh! He comes to Mumbai regularly and does not even visit his sister, who lives in the same town!” she exclaimed as she made a note of the address.

That evening, Mrs. Murthy casually asked her husband whether he knew any dentist by the name of Dr.Suman Dutt. But, he faked ignorance.

Following Saturday, Mrs. Murthy took permission from her husband to stay with his sister for few days in town. How could her husband cheat on her? She was feeling miserable. His sister, too, was unaware of her brother’s visits to her town.. She had to put an end to this. She needed to teach that dentist a lesson!

Early Sunday morning, she reported at the clinic.

“Do you have an appointment?” asked the receptionist as she looked into her appointment book.

“I need to see this doctor immediately. I don’t need any appointment.” She said as she barged her way through the door.

“Wait…you can’t……”

But Mrs. Murthy was already inside the cabin. The soft breeze poured into the cabin as the door shut heavily against the wall. Dr Suman Dutt raised her brow and stared at Mrs. Murthy.

“What the hell…Who are you? Coming forcibly like this…..” said the doctor

“I am Mrs.Murthy. Does my husband visit you often?” What a question. How many women go round to dentist clinic asking questions like that? She must have treated more than two thousand husbands on record and most of them visited her many times.

“Mr. Murthy?” said Dr. Suman as she turned to face this angry woman and took a deep breath.

“Now, now, now, don’t pretend, I know he has been visiting you” She was standing so close to the doctor that she could actually count her cavities. Even her teeth needed a little bit of whitening. The strong odor from her breath made her turn away

“Excuse me please. I have many patients. I have no time to discuss my patients with you? And why should I” she said

“Because this particular one happens to be my husband” as if she cared! She wished that all women gave enough care and comfort to their husbands so that they wouldn’t go barging off like that and making a fool of themselves?

“Oh really, then why don’t you ask him, huh?”

“Because he won’t tell me, and he actually faked ignorance. But I believe that you are having an affair with him.” Thank God, she was alone in the room. If her children were to hear this madness they would have laughed heartily. Theirs was a happy family and they usually laughed away at the dinner table when they discussed the moods of different patients.

“I don’t believe this, you must be crazy, please excuse me I have to attend to my other patients.” She said

“Oh yeah! You have more patients to attend? Who? My husband? He will be coming any moment, isn’t it?” She was shaking now as she spoke.

The cabin was small and her loud sound reverberated in the room. Dr Suman was tempted to bodily drag her outside.

“Mrs Murthy, please lower your voice.” She told her politely.

“Okay, you want to tell me what treatment are you doing for my husband? Huh?” she said as she approached forward, her hand dragging against the smooth, glass surface of the desk and dropped a book on the floor scattering all the loose sheaves on the floor.

“Calm down Mrs Murthy. Sorry! I cannot discuss this with you. It’s confidential.” said Dr Suman as she bend down to pick her book and the papers from the floor.

“You cannot discuss with me? Confidential? Huh?” she walked two steps and came closer to Dr Suman, and pulled her arm with her tight grip. Dr Suman wondered if she had gotten up from the wrong side of her bed.

“Please Mrs Murthy. You are hurting me!” said Dr Suman as she released her arm from her grip.

“I am his wife and you cannot tell me? Why? Eh? Tell me the truth! I know about your affair. Just let go of my husband…Do you hear me? I will not allow it…” she was almost screaming now as she came forward and suddenly pulled doctor’s hair hard, almost plucking it out from its roots. On an impulse, Dr Suman took a sharp turn raising her elbow up in the air, gave a swift punch and Mrs. Murthy went stumbling, losing her balance, two steps backwards and was down on the floor on her back with her feet up in the air.

Dr Suman was surprised and embarrassed. She had not intended to hit so hard. She went closer to Mrs Murthy and sat down on her knees and held her hand. “I am sorry! But believe me. There is no affair. The secret is his, not mine. I am only his doctor, sworn into secrecy”

“What do you mean?” said Mrs. Murthy, as she straightened and tried to get up.

“Listen, your husband lost his eight front teeth in an accident when he was twelve years old.. My dad had made denture for him then. He came to me for regular check-ups. Three months ago, his dentures chipped off. He needs to make new sets.”

‘And why wouldn’t he tell me that? Why are you so secretive?” she was whispering now

“He did not want to tell you, because, he was embarrassed, because, he loves you too much and he was afraid of your rejection on knowing the truth.”

There were tears in her eyes as her husband entered the room.

Time heals all wounds

Time heals all wounds
That’s what they say

But miseries may last for
Very, many days

You cross the long tunnel
to reach the other side

and see a new valley
on your horse ride

Some butterflies kiss
A baby blooms

The birds learn to sing
A colorful tune

And in the midst
Of green, new, fresh hay

You throw back those
Painful memories away

Friday, April 20, 2007

sigh! sniff! sniff!

Cry not, Oh, my broken heart
Life is just a dream
If tears could built a moving stream
I would swim across the seas
to reach the back door of his heart
and destroy all his peace.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Dance with me

I sit bored across the room,
Deep in thought, watching you
As you swirl to rhythmic nights
Of loud music and blinking lights

Wondering if you can find me
In the left corner of the room
Yes, the one sipping rum
The curls overshadowing eyes

Back is drooped, titled head,
Waiting for music to pause
So that you can disarm her
Lead her to an easy chair.

Lift your smile and walk ahead
Relax on to my side, I want my
verbal dance tonight
You promised me candlelight.

When Pragya Thakur, of ‘Shakespeare and Company network’ on, came to Bombay to meet Shakespeareans friends,

I was wondering ‘Should I go? Should I not go?’ Now, Churchgate is one hour drive from Bandra unless I decide to take a train of 30 minutes (but then we have to climb up/down bridges) they don’t allow active people to cross the tracks! (Only lazy people are allowed to cross the tracks that too, secretly.) But I was keen to meet Pragya and her Family and decided to hit the road.

The venue selected was Astoria Hotel. I enquired at the concierge and he directed me to go to Tea Centre. He asked the watchman to show me the route, he came with me all the way to the road and asked me to go the building next to subway (wrong directions) but when ever I ask for direction I don’t ask one person for directions before proceeding. When more than three people told me to take the subway and go to the other side of the street, I was convinced and reached the venue.

And it was worth it! It was nice meeting John Mathew, Archana Kombrambail, Jane Bhandari (who runs a poetry group called Loqations), Shilpa (a television script writer), Anil Siqueira, Prabhakar, Ravishankar C, Maya Sriram (My coach in writing), Raamesh Gowri Raghavan, Pallavi Bhattacharya and Pragya's husband Anil and her six-year-old daughter Anoushka. (Sorry, if I missed anyone).

The ambience was warm, group receptive and laughter with joy was a packaged deal. I was amused when they wanted to laugh aloud after I read my piece on ‘Laughter club’

“No! No!”
“Small laugh please!”
“People are staring! “

So all we did was to postpone the laugh for an open space some other time.

Anoushka was a real treat and her chatter was music to me. (I love kids) Thirty years from now, I hope I am alive to see this famous writer-to-be.

I was glad I could make it.

I need a new maid

Who will clean my floor?
Who will answer the door?
Who will set the table?
I am quite unable.

Head is throbbing fast
Eyes are wet and red
Back is bent and blue
Bai, I am missing you

Don’t ever take a break
Don’t you know it’s hard
What is easy for you
It’s tearing me apart

Who will boil the milk?
Who will iron the silk?
Who will answer the phone?
Oh dear Bai! I am all alone!

You are resting at home
But I have reading to do
Now my day is waste
Doing odd jobs of you

Who will swab the floor?
Who will clean the clothes?
Who will massage for me?
Get me a new Bai please!

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Friendly bytes

No wind blows my lashes
No sunlight warms me up
All day these dancing bytes
Wave from my bedroom desk
A cold, soft ice pad
cools my tired eyes
And then I am back grabbing
Bytes as I write.

Monday, April 16, 2007

My inspiration

As I trod through shrubs and ferns
smelling the sweet, wet mud.
An inquisitive flower
bends down over my neck
and peeps down on my slate to see

Glancing at the sweet flower
Inhaling its sweet fragrance
‘You are my inspiration’ I say in glee
Stroking its petal'ed cheek

You are so soft to touch
So smooth is your skin
You dance at the rhythm
Of slow wind
In writing's, my joy you can see.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Word’ly World……

Pain in misery
Gain in beauty
go through life
Round and round
He splashes ink
and feels the misery
With extended curves
A new beauty
I find.

The words that connect
Those extreme ends
Make me think
in lazy times.
Seeing power of his pen
I can’t help
but post to him those
happy sighs.

He smiles,
I connect
We compromise.
his words have now
A new meaning
Half misery, half beauty
For me it’s fine
Will analyze it
When I have time

I walk ahead
A corner turned
yes, I too see a narrow path
and I smile to myself,

I step into
a cave that
have words
crawling, sliding
all over the walls,
some falling and
meeting the metaphors
on the floor while
others run
to meet the puns,
I pick them up and
swing them into my palm,
juggle them up,
one by one
shape them again,
Smoothen them
Leave them free
to express themselves on a
Blank slate

The words begin to dance
As love words embrace
The emotion words,
They rock and roll,
Twist and turn, up and down,
Intoxicated, with supportive,
Lively, lyrical words
The cave is filled with
laughter words and
giggling words
as humor doubles
on its knees
And then
stamp upon
and crush some of those
rude words
and forget
to say
sorry, please..

Rude words join
with angry words,
they form a gang and
call their friends,
terrorist words, dacoit words,
killer words, confused words
all emerge from dark, deep crevices,
In huge rallies they walk across,
Abuses, tempers, flying high,
loud echoes resonating
noisy, destructive clouds emerges
surrounding me
suffocating me

I sit there immersed
In careless pool of words
feeling chained in,
try to break free,
but unable to move
trapped like a sardine
in quarantine

Seeing my confusion,
they tie me up and
drag me from the cave
to a open space,
pull me over
up the hill and
with a sharp kick
of a strong, bully word
in to my bruised butt
Push me hard
down the cliff.

Down, down , down
I see my body float
as I wake up with a jolt
from my hazy dream
of word’ly world.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Wordsworth's 'Daffodils' is all set to rap

During our last read-meet in Mumbai in March, while we were discussing the characteristics of a good poem, one of the writers drew our attention to the magic of William Wordsworth's words that has delighted generations of people across the globe. She spoke about how he describes the crowd of daffodils, "tossed and reeled and danced, and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind that blew upon them over the lake”.

200 years after his famous 'Daffodils' poem 'I Wandered Lonely as A Cloud' was published, it has been turned into a rap for the YouTube generation to reach new audiences and inspire people of new generation.

David Wilson, the Robert Woof Director of the Wordsworth Trust, said: "Wordsworth's poem, 'I wandered lonely as a cloud', always achieves very high ratings in any survey of favorite English poems.”It is a poem about the mind's growing awareness over time of the deepening value of an experience, in this case observing the dancing daffodils.

The new 'hip-hop' version of the famous poem and an accompanying pop video can be listened to and watched for free at Cumbria Tourism's website at

The modern re-working manages to stay true to the original sentiment but with some slight variation of the lyrics. The video was shot on the banks of Lake Ullswater which provided the original inspiration for the poem, as well as around Ullswater Steamers, the grounds and gardens of the luxury Sharrow Bay Hotel, and Grasmere where Wordsworth made his home.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Mind your words!

A small liberty you take
And call it poetic license
You take those words for a trip
and they create lot of nuisance
It is not you whom I blame
It is these N(a)utty curves
They tickle these foolish nerves
And make us lose our senses
Unintelligent, enlightened,
Call them what you want
But hold them in your rein
Before they wander off…
...the fences.

Friday, April 06, 2007


I wrote self introduction- a meaningless rite
You gave it a rhythm and music bytes
The name that you had heard long ago
You failed to recognize in just one go
I want to remind you, but you don’t care
You can understand not what you hear
you believe only what is in sight
So, to get your attention
I write……

I am the boss

I find
the maze
of your
long list
them all,
to tie them up
into a beautiful
of a verse
to showcase
it all
on my
own shelf.

Do you recognize any of your pearls?
You cannot …….
They now have a new owner.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

It's not a sin!

To steal and win is not a sin
If innocence was the cause

Would tell a lie and walk a mile
to save the truth from pain

Would kill a moron and not regret
If he/she deserved to die

Will forge a dream and wash it clean
It’s not a sin. Don’t preach!

I count my breath, upside down
Am I stamping on your soul?

I have my own goals to spin
Your sermons mar my moods

I am but Almighty’s tool
Through whom He plays His games.

No act is sin, there is no type.
It’s a perspective of your mind.

You break my heart, now hear me swear
Won’t match my smile with yours

I need for skeletons, an open space
Won’t lock them in shameful way

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

I write.....

I sit in a bus enjoying a ride
In comes an eunuch and plops by my side
I shift and squirm but he leans on me
I whimper and complain but don’t like fights
I fumbled into my bag for a defense tool in sight
I poke his ribs with my sharp pen and then....

I write…

Thank U for this award

Thank U for this award
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