Friday, March 16, 2018


Bhashwati wrote:

Aap ne tasveer jo lagwaayi hai incredibly awesome hai.
Saath koi shabd hote to 4 moons lag jaate lamp ke saath

Monday, March 12, 2018

Monday, February 26, 2018


fragile as a moth's wing
dissolving at the lightest touch
into motes
 borne on a breeze

Sunday, February 18, 2018


Our science believes that all matter in the universe springs out of one, another, or all of the three types of quarks, which supposedly conduct the business of running the universe. Interestingly, though, it is given only to mankind, as far as we can know today, as we have yet to discover any other intelligent life beyond us, no matter how near or how impossibly far away, to undo and alter the work of quarks by extinguishing intelligent life, if not life in its entirety.

A twist of quirk, maybe, do you think?

Friday, February 16, 2018


in the innards of earth
more than a million years ago
to turn into
coal, gas, diamond
volcanic exudate


something else


who knows
even perish

Anonymous wrote:

What reaches us as fossil is the ultimate embodiment of tenacity in nature and yet the image you present is so delicate and fragile.

Once again im not speculating on what it might be.
It is beauty, nuanced in tone and texture and compelling.
The text compelling in its brevity and subtly depicting transience of life itself.

Sunday, February 11, 2018

Before the End of Innocence

In Bangalore in the early seventies, before the West End Hotel was taken over by GRD Tata from Bhabha and very vastly expanded, Ashok was the ultimate hotel, where everyone from film stars to politicians to whoever was someone, with exceptions like me, stayed. The top, ninth floor was where I always stayed, and film stars  shooting in Bangalore also stayed on that floor. When I stayed there Dharmendra, not yet married to Hema Malini, was in the suite next to mine, shooting for Shalimar (a total disaster) with Rex Harrison.

To avoid getting carried away with my narrative, I will quickly come to the picture above: I was checking out of the hotel when I noticed her, toddling all over the lobby.  She turned out to be the daughter of the Manager, a Sardarji. I requested that I be allowed to take her pictures. She had a fever, but because of my pleading, the Manager called his wife, who held the baby on her shoulder. I took several pictures, and was so taken by her beauty and innocence that I wrote a letter, sealed it, and told the Manager to preserve it until the girl turned 25, and then give it to her to read.

This is the long and short of my emotional outpouring. For those interested, we moved outside near the swimming pool, because the light inside the hotel was inadequate. The baby was held by the mother with her head above the mother's shoulder, looking behind her. I took the pictures from behind to avoid the mother's head.

Friday, February 09, 2018



Monday, February 05, 2018

In the Land of Dreams

in the land of dreams
in the shadows of clouds
come, come

struggling here
far from hope
come, come,
let's go away

Wednesday, January 31, 2018


to hide
to seek solace
to look for
childhood's treasures
to search for
a dependable ally
a daydream
a reverie
before childhood's end

Saturday, January 27, 2018

Beyond the Shadows of the Distant Sky

where human greed and impurity
where air
does not contain the scum and filth
that man's neglect and indifference
spread and pollute

there, there beyond the shadows
of the distant sky
is the dwelling of the innermost core
of my mind and body
my being
my existence

Wednesday, January 24, 2018


 I am stung by the experience of touching the core of human existence.

ten billion human lives
living, dying, even as
incrementally growing
per second per second acceleration
in their count, becoming countless
unless extirpated
by some malevolent swipe

all of them feel and take it as a boon
given as a bestowed favour
and benediction for the ultimate
all-assuming and consuming 
bouquet of experiences
out of the question that it be questioned
why, if it wasn't, or if there wasn't it given

poison, ecstasy, satiation
through food or sexual encounters
with meager or mega means
and humongous affluence
whether through comprehension
or lack of it, assumed to be
a given, to be taken,
kept to be lived and not questioned

the convenience emanating from
assumption of destiny
for comfort, consolation, and pacification 
in the hypocritical oddities 
of colliding vanities, deprivation,
corruption of mind or action

ought not at least a few
if such be the case
feel resentment and be embittered
with rage that life's vagaries
do not offer choices
that from birth to demise
everything in between is a caprice
so whimsical that what goes by the name of virtue
resides in evanescent droplets of dew
while evil pervades and conquers

does one think 
or is it improper to question this myth and reject it
as not a given, and therefore
not feel belittled, lost, bemoan
not having been born
not missing out most grievously
on the experience of life and living

and if not born 
and therefore not in the knowledge
of missing out on life
how is it that it is not realised
that they would not know the loss
of experiencing life
which would have only been an
expedient of contingency,
ad infinitum, contingent upon another

the question is, why not no life
and simply not know about its absence

what a sting

Sunday, January 21, 2018

Riddled Rider

charmer on the road
drawing attention
only at traffic lights
or tight jams
ignored otherwise
as the world and its harried people
pass by

Bhashwati wrote:
Jab rangeela riddled rider tayyaara ho ke ghar se nikalta hoga for his day's work... us se pehle apni gaadi ko saaf karta hoga, apna make up karta hoga, apne rangeen accessories ko tarteeb se rakhta hoga, tiffin dabba leta hoga, ghar ki mahila se.

Aur sochta hoga

Do teen chaar meherbaan logon ki nazar padhe to baat ban jaaye.
What do people want?
Dont they like the colours?
the gods? the tassells?
Why are they so unseeing?
Should they not be paying for the spectacle i offer them on the drab street?
Is a shiny car better than my rainbow chariot?

i wish i could ask these qs in his words, in his language.

Friday, January 19, 2018

Saturday, January 13, 2018

A Murder of Crows

(Just as a group of geese is called a gaggle, a group of crows is called a murder.)

Sunday, January 07, 2018

The Last Scholar

half-buried in the sand 
at the bottom of the sea
at the end of the world

Bhashwati wrote:

The last scholar is a very powerful and extremely disturbing composition. 

but that is only stating the obvious.

Friday, January 05, 2018

Life Outside

just a heartbeat away
pressing against the window
when the breeze drives it
calling you to join
the green dance
before the music changes
and the party ends

Monday, January 01, 2018


but inanimate
and therefore
not an object 
of vicarious curiosity

only occasional
mostly left to their own devices
of being in disuse