MushRoom

Capsuled fragrance

2012-02-15T14:10:00.003+05:30

The recipe for good memory
Does not lie in pure fragrance.
Some old monk marries
The morning's cologne;
Smoke diffuses in detergent.
Let it all combine
And wisp close by
For at the end
A sweet capsule it makes.

Faraway

2012-01-20T11:00:00.000+05:30

Do it more often, you endorse,
If that is your indulgence.
I take you on trust,
Yet relish
The variety of our distance.

Neither meagre, to make it a wont,
Nor abundant, that I'd miss
Your three-second gaze.

Sometimes a few feet
To let me judge
On whose side you belong,
At others so close,
Pigeon feet on the corners of your eyes,
Tributaries of an eruption.

Yet another distance is
When my Bhimpalasi flavours your Camels.

There's one from which
I whisper, I hate you.

And some midnights,
Many miles away,
A text stirs you mid-slumber.

A new story fakes shape.
Praise network before the Lord!
Your cryptic riddle,
My off-key fiddle
Is how we write our song.

Mean jest and crude insults
Make our canvas mighty,
Tangents launch at every turn
And no one fathoms our farce.

Abused

2012-01-04T15:45:00.002+05:30

Just a four letter word,
Love's a redundancy edited for an epic.
Leave the recluse of first world rhetorics alone.
Isn't grappling with the schism of the everlasting and the sinful
A mirror maze enough of what is and could be?
Let the millionaire revel in third world hallucinations.

Inspired by The End of Mr Y

2011-12-07T01:06:00.001+05:30

Razed concrete is more pitiable
Than sly forest fires.
The glassy facade and angular encroachment -
Reliable landmarks on a daily commute -
Conjecture to reassure
A slave of doom's prophesy.
Claws preying upon
Unsuspecting stacked symmetry.

We Are Here

2011-12-07T01:03:00.001+05:30

We are here.

Pin pricks en route to no place special

A little blind, a tad unseeing,

Preempting for self preservation,

Fumbling, holding.

Exchanging embarrassed smiles.

Louve

2011-11-12T20:24:00.001+05:30

For five days in a row
I choose to love
the love
that you call love.
Then on the sixth,
The mirror gets inquisitive.
"What's up?"
Shit.
The frown's surfaced already.
I cannot help it!
Tea must spill on whites.

On new parenthood

2011-11-12T20:13:00.001+05:30

Sometimes labour should incubate
to grow more powerful
or just grow on you.
Then its effects manifest
in ways you never knew
And occupy your now and henceforth.

Published!

2011-11-06T13:36:00.001+05:30

Ladies and gentlemen, published on Spark, an old poem with some tweaks and alterations. Thank you for the often encouraging and critical works. They have helped me enormously to mature in my words. Parth Pandya, a special thanks to you for introducing me to the mag. :)

Resolve

2011-11-01T15:32:00.000+05:30

This charade demands I play along
Like Krishna's flute,
Like a chessboard queen.
The triumph its own illusion,
Lasting as far as my will.

Like you and I

2011-10-22T13:31:00.000+05:30

One moment the river was freezing,
The next, an ice blading floor.
What seemed like dates
sliding down banisters,
Became a waltz of awe.
It stopped to matter
where the river veered,
Its freezing, a maceless prophecy.
Scratches from a game or dance,
the season's only chronicle.

Bombay Gulmohar

2011-09-03T01:47:00.001+05:30

there are these gulmohar trees
in front of all the windows in my house.
the other day these trees were in full bloom.
the tops were covered with flowers,
like they were on fire.
in the shower,
it was all intricate layers:
bright shades of green
and the natural jaali of the branches
and then this fire on top.

Unhurried and infinite

2011-08-23T01:55:00.001+05:30

Sometimes some time is not enough
To know ridges from rough edges.

Nightly jaunts,
One distant from the last,
A partner chosen well,
And the dessert won't exhaust.

On Memory (written immediately after reading Parth's comment on the previous post)

2011-08-23T01:34:00.001+05:30

Souvenir of Murphy's homeland,
A catapult that flocks in a fleet.
The past, its only date,
Loss, an easy gain,
And the uses, obsolete.

Verna Woe

2011-08-04T15:47:00.001+05:30

The Verna is a terrible car.
No, nothing wrong with the engine
Decent mileage and suspension,
But when memory drives it like a Ferrari,
And rams it straight into my heart,
You expect me to patronise it?

Scar

2011-08-04T13:23:00.000+05:30

Scabs from stoking a hearth,
And ogres knotted in newsprint,
Are just bedtime tales.

To live is
To run a relay,
And lose count.

An impressionist's impression,
Muscles' fossil,
Parameters of judgement,
A schizophrenic shaman
Balanced by desire.

A long story
Cut short in places,
Swollen and sunken.
The scratched shield-
The legion's white flag.

Another nightly noise

2011-07-13T12:30:00.001+05:30

The drill got to work
As layers of REM peeled.

Its instruction manual,
True to character-
Hieroglyphics of sound.

Beginning of an invitation,
Snatches of a fight of fancy.

I like your thinking aloud.

Pigeon hole

2011-06-21T16:39:00.000+05:30

Mould comes in myriad hues:
Grey greens and grey blues.
Two overgrowths occupy my balustrade.
The pique of losing shelter
Has bypassed them.
Pocks barely manifest,
Their trysts with felines end in splatter,
And with janitors, in hostility.

Lean on me

2011-06-13T18:56:00.001+05:30

The myth of seductive melancholy
Is not mine to unravel.
It lies motionless,
Like flowers on a grave,
Stationary, yet shriveling,
Because the dying do not wait
For ceremony.

Free Confines

2011-06-01T00:28:00.001+05:30

Closed doors can be another freedom.
Opacity prevents invasion,
Latches lock out restriction,
But you can't come out of the closet!
Who wants to?
You're stored in a cool, dry place.

Cliched

2011-05-03T16:37:00.000+05:30

why do you ask,
when you do what you like?
it is such a bong trait -
or is it just a boy trait,
asking for the sake of asking?
you always throw away.
for morals or mystique.
you do the exact opposite,
because norms are just not your thing?
cliched.

Sigh

2011-05-03T16:36:00.001+05:30

I would love your man-handling
Handle with care.
It wouldn't be half the anti-climax
If rather than dither, you dared.
Love lasts only 18 months
A study spread the scare
Adjectives galore, shush your oath
Words are my flair.

My Hyderabadi Eve Teaser

2011-04-27T12:44:00.000+05:30

In jeans, a scruffy tee shirt clad,
And glasses and oil slapped hair
Was I

In clothes of conservative charm -
A salwar kameez
And kolhapuris
Was I

But he does not care
That nothing shows
My plait in tight roped resistance.

Starched white his heart
Paan-stained lust,
He asks of me,
As if old trust,
Haay, Ab chalein jaan?

I like him. I like him not.

2011-04-16T16:13:00.001+05:30

I do not like him
I never will
We belong to different worlds,
But he rides an enfield
And sports a tattoo
And writes a blog enough followed.
What is enough, though?
45?
Or 45 at 25?
It is not hard to keep away,
It is harder to invite the keeping at it.

Rockstar heart break

2011-03-14T17:22:00.000+05:30

A heavy metal rock band
Drums beating out of rhythm
Guitar work all over the place
Headbanging violently
My fragility could do with a snatch of sedative.

If their fates met

2011-02-09T17:50:00.001+05:30

A boy and a girl,
Two different worlds,
The boy, an achiever,
The girl, struggling,
The boy, despite all odds,
The girl finds no odds.
The boy, never loved,
The girl, yearning.
Another uneventful Wednesday.

Time to go

2011-01-18T14:05:00.000+05:30

The clock says eleven fifty three ay em;
Past breakfast time;
Already swamped on two hot chocolates.
But nine smses with the boyfriend,
and a phone-call-for-a-story later,
The voice finds no inspiration to chirp,
And the eyes, no light to illuminate.
Some days are like that,
The heart consoles.
"Lunch?" Sruti suggests.

Sepia Moon

2010-11-15T14:30:00.003+05:30

Crescent or full
In the wake of night
Sinking, sinking
the sepia moon.

Final Countdown

2010-11-11T10:13:00.000+05:30

He surrenders, camouflage and with it
All pretensions of gentility,
Aims at his prey,
As if to grant a final wish before execution;
Both still as vacuum—prey and prayer.
While the hunter creeps closer,
If even only in illusion,
The moments await the fire, drought and flood
–And their unison in fate.

Chaos

2010-11-11T10:09:00.000+05:30

If only a diamond cuts another,
why does noise encourage more?
In the revelry of the night-time song
my wedding became the patient's wrong.
Why are monasteries like meeting halls,
where women cackle like they were in malls?
As if this din ceases no way
one day it turns into a fray
of violent emotions burning a pyre,
And those who began it never retire.
"It's a jungle out there," they say
But the wild allows no jaywalking.

The Rain

2010-11-11T10:07:00.000+05:30

She plays hide and seek
Where trees lie mobbed together:
A veil of shower
Or just peek-a-boo.

Her games are an open secret,
Like a burqua that covers beauty
And intrigues the onlooker too.

She dances on the ledge
And climbs in through the window.
When the winds chase her elusive arrival,
She gushes through tiny bylanes
And beckons all on the way—
The myna to sing,
The grass to beam,
The puddles to splash,
And lovers to dream.

The dreams shatter as she lashes about,
The puddles meander into streams,
The grass sinks, stamped upon,
But the myna remains on the brink—

On the brink of madness,
She wades through the fog
Climbs each branch higher
Forks further, flits farther,
The friend catches up, at last.

The Second Hand

2010-11-11T09:56:00.000+05:30

Time flows in circles.
Who will watch it?
Who will measure?
Whose wrist will it adorn?
Who is to keep it
And who will give it away?
You or I – aren’t we only sundials?

Parijat

2010-11-02T11:09:00.000+05:30

If I told you
That the roughness
Of some Parijat leaves
Brushes against my window,
Would you come?

If I told you
That the wind lugs in
Its winter song
Each morning,
Would you come?

If I told you
That the saffron flower stems
Are no torch bearers
Of right wing gashes
Would it not suffice?

And if I told you
That everytime I look at it
The memory of an old email,
Fires with the resolution of 300 dpi
Would you still not relent?

JUNK

2010-08-24T17:15:00.000+05:30

I've written many letters to you.
Most ended in love.
None posted.
They all lie
At the bottom of a heavy chest.

D Chat

2010-07-22T01:56:00.001+05:30

the mistakes in your spelling increase
that's how i know you're sleepy
yet your words toil harder
your thoughts cut in
i struggle to keep you awake
you keep me, instead
15 more minutes, i will myself
half an hour easily, you hyperactive child
i have a class tomorrow morning
haven't even prepared
your nocturnal-by-nature queries never cease
you say you don't partake caffeine
i'm sure you're not allowed

afternoony

2010-07-13T16:47:00.001+05:30

i want to read under an umbrella
in the rain
near a swimming pool
in the public park
so when it stops raining,
i can go swim.

but where will i leave the book
and umbrella?
someone steals more than glances
in the ladies' time.

Idle Ideal

2010-06-12T15:01:00.001+05:30

A siesta under the clouds
Kal boishakhi on its way
A drizzle in preparation
Some ginger simmering in the kettle
A love song rocks my hammock
Indulge me with nibbles
No mood for the five-course
Let’s cut the chase to dessert
An Irish coffee potion
Should cure this day dream

If you ever saw yourself in these lines...

2010-05-17T14:31:00.000+05:30

Now if it rains sooner
Enough so I do not miss
Ease of the first wet mud that
Looks desolate like this

No one would ever notice
Either fear or despair
Edge away I will in time
Leaving a game played fair

Not nice it is
Eclipsing the sun
Eager as I am, I haven’t
Lost silent reason

Negotiate, it should, shouldn’t it
Equal rights are, though a joke
Ever heard of soft hearts
Lying low when agony wisps in smoke?

Sepia

2010-04-13T16:09:00.004+05:30

Sepia is not opaque.
It is memories rusting
From humidity
When helpless laughter rains.

Sepia is not an emotion –
It just about
Feigns melancholy.

Sepia is not your spectacles,
Though they speak
What no one can know about you.

Sepia is not manicured.
The peeling skin near your nails
Is effortless.

Sepia isn’t tea gardens in Assam.
My grandmother’s bone china –
Cracked at the base –
Has acquired the tint
Of Darjeeling leaves
Brewed in wrinkles.

Oh! Sepia is not even this commute.
Waking up to cross-country vendors
Many summers in a row –
That’s sepia.

Call Me Tonight

2010-03-23T14:57:00.001+05:30

In the dark
When nightfall takes over
We’re undressed
Lolling in our sheets -
A prelude to slumber,
It’s a call from you
That lullabies.

When the day's worries
Are put to rest
And the stage belongs to fantasy
We put on our dreamer hats
And leave the rest to words.

Words between us
Aren’t merely sounds,
Not out of a lexicon,
They sprout from within,
Not shaped out of thin air
Echoes of desperation
To live not long
But far and wide
And inside out
And many winter nights
Squeezed together.

Call again
Tonight and tomorrow,
All week and then,
For months in a row.
Give me another wing
For another flight of fancy.

Let’s fly again
Let us arrive
Call me tonight
And into my abyss, dive.

I Love You

2010-03-18T12:37:00.001+05:30

I love you.

"What do you want from me?"

Nothing! I love you.
You needn't do anything in return.
Consider it philanthropy,
I don't even demand a tax exemption.
Oh Hell!
You might as well
While you're at it.

On the Way to Bombay Central Station

2010-03-18T11:15:00.002+05:30

I’ve cruised through this street already,
This isn’t my first time.
It is nondescript but not pathetic,
It ushers in a rhyme.
Two-storeyeds skirt the fringes.
It is more than just a turn,
Closed doors wobble at the hinges,
Their stories risk a pun.

Sigh.

Finally the surety of a motorway
That leads to an often-stomped haunt.
I’ll almost miss the hesitant jay
Though the course bullied to daunt.

Faux Pashminas

2010-02-23T12:42:00.000+05:30

Faux Pashminas, with all their synthetic, feel more cozy. Light as feather, yet warm, they cover like no stole or dupatta or shawl would. No rough fibres poking the small of your waist or nape when you have a sari on; not so heavy it overpowers you while trapsing, yet stay firmly on your shoulders.

At a nervous interview, you hold onto its lingering fingers on your lap without ever realising. And it ends up being by your side for many autumns.

Could Ul-Abidin's Kashmiri grandeur be half so warm as your Colaba steal? If winters of 15th Century were harsher, the cold was sweeter, the snow-caps mightier and their climbers more brave, would a neat glass of brandy have satiated their hungry tiredness or did the flowing robes of some secret perfume relieve their tense muscles?

Last Evening, Yet Again

2010-02-23T12:16:00.000+05:30

I miss you most in a taxi by dark,
When the street lights come looking for you
And accuse me of driving you away.
In little interims between every lamppost,
Your name escapes in a whisper.

Bombay, 16 Feb 2010

2010-02-23T12:13:00.001+05:30

This city inspires no cleanliness in me,
What do I do? What do I do?

Don't even try niceness, I was once advised.
It comes naturally - the cruelty of truth.

Hurry up! Chalo, now! koi train chhoot jayegi!
Or the next blast will perhaps get you first.

Saala, the lights squint your vision later,
The noise claims a place first.

Sometimes I worry what claims our lives -
The occupation of fear within
Or the boredom of our occupations.

AT

2010-02-11T16:44:00.000+05:30

Those lips are familiar
I’ve dared them before
They sucked all happiness from me once

I’ve known those eyes
They’ve looked at me a long time ago
They still sting when they pierce

That shoulder’s warmth I’m acquainted with
Its squareness is rooted in burden

A not-alien embrace
It belongs to my world
And encompasses all my personages –
Brimming, yet barren.

To all the men who think women PMSing is a fuss: Ever Had Chums?

2009-12-12T20:42:00.005+05:30

My throat would
Either quiver or shriek;
Oh! The bleeding,
That's all it is:
Some discomfort.
Not shot, nor stabbed,
Burnt, brandished or trapped,
The suffering is borne of the mind.
No one afflicts it upon me,
It is not a masochistic instinct.

The chair creaks,
My uterus shivers,
The computer screen stares,
I'm nauseous.
Thank god my menstrual cycle
Does not mirror the mechanics
Of my workplace
Or my head would numb
With mindless ache
All muscles and joints
Cramp and click.

Him [1]

2009-11-18T09:03:00.000+05:30

They are hardly square, though well defined,
A mass chiseled each day
To do the bidding of many exploits,
Not, strictly, for display.

A Ruebinsian manifestation, these shoulders,
Extend seldom to the Hamletian mind:
To, or not to unite with crime, is not a game they play.
They do not tug, they do not jab,
Like aerial roots of the Banyan head
They bury themselves to spread deep within
A kind of peace, not phlegmatic silence,
For the fist to resist sin.

Beethoven's Quartet, Op. 132

2009-11-13T11:58:00.000+05:30

If water wove itself
into meandering streams
would the sound be music or noise,
or ripples be its choice?

The day after a tempest
was a quiet one and alone,
the shatter its applause,
the sun, its spotlight on nothing,
the grass in quiet hiding.

My Foot

2009-11-06T10:15:00.000+05:30

I wish I was my foot—
All of me:
Slender, muscular, curvy, shapely,
And be able to hold the rest of me.
In moments of solitude, I’d soak
In the shallow of a pool,
Or get a sand pack on a beach.
Every fortnight I’d look forward to a hammam:
Massage, scrub, wash, enamel.
But I’d hate to walk tilted all the time
On six-inch pencils or three inch stilettos,
And rather not be my foot,
If someone tickled all of me
While I looked away.

Wind

2009-11-06T10:04:00.001+05:30

He arrives in a tenor’s baritone,
Eclipses piddling noises,
Uproots all resistance,
And enthralls him who surrenders.

“Oh! Bother my hair!” I said,
He abided by my command.
Ruffled my sense of calm;
My mercuric irritability,
And raised a tempest to elevate
My task to impossibility.
All oaks fell.

It prods incense’s children
To the glee of a praying mother.
Directs southern winds
To wet the farmer’s attire.
Appreciate the strength of soul:
What is thy arm’s ability?
How insipid movement
Rises to uncanny storm:
No display of moulded iron,
Or the archer’s skill.

Just random musings these,
Spurting into passionate streams.

Biker

2009-11-06T10:01:00.000+05:30

Leather makes him
And weather strengthens:
He is seasoned by the earth.

Ever free, the quadrilateral isn't home:
He dwells amid the hills
And the rain and green thrills,
Though posterity misses by inches,
Pity him not an ounce.

Analysing each isolation,
Not a cheetah, he wouldn't pounce.

Untitled*

2009-11-06T09:46:00.003+05:30

Incisions on steeps in the den of wilderness-
Sending jitters down its spine
Or slashes on a newly-wed's back
As if streams intertwined
Were boarding-schooled to geometry.
Will it never dawn upon our minions,
Tar-drenched,
That, straight lines by the force of hand,
Or heavy engineering,
May pave new paths for trucks to tread
Or even an engineer of a nimble head,
But it is time's corollary,
That minds held back
Springboard to rebellion:
Witnesses turn to crime,
And of wasted power,
What do we say?

*Suggestions Welcome

Last Night 2

2009-11-06T09:46:00.001+05:30

What did you do to me last night?
The world looks more magenta this morning.
What was that caress you slid?
My body has acquired new shape.
What was that whisper, whose refrain I still remember?

To You

2009-11-06T09:45:00.001+05:30

How many loves can you love in a night?
And how many doubts can you resolve?
It takes every ounce of flesh from your frame-
Already scaling-
Every infant's game-
To attempt and failing.
It has a few faults
For those who look hard,
And hardly any hurdles,
For those who will to jump them all.
My love, I've loved you once before,
That time you weren't looking.
My love, I've always held your hand,
Even when you weren't feeling,
My love - it looked from beneath
Through the periscope of time,
Biding
Until it found you forsaken to attack.

Last Night

2009-11-06T09:36:00.003+05:30

Is this night too long,
Or the waiting?
Can miles not be bridged?

What is it about waiting
That makes us so impatient;
That puts us to bed,
Hoping miracles will run their course
And time won’t mourn itself.

What is it about distance -
So full of pain -
Yet sweet?
That when you are away
Rapid breathing touches my shoulders,
And when I’m in your midst
Your gaze stings.

What does morality do to me and you?
Making distance
Bide by time,
For it might take so much of both
Before, around each other, we entwine.

Risque

2009-11-06T09:36:00.001+05:30

The fragrance of her hair
Trickles down her towel;
Accepts the dare
To sneak onto the arm -
So what, if she is rubbed dry?
She flirts with the air around -
Moist like her,
Not as still,
The fan is loyal, he says,
But his cassanova status, of which we know,
Grabs her by the waist
And dances the Rhumba
Across the limited dimentions
That restrict the gaiety.
He, who holds any waist
Whether sweaty, toxic, heady or nauseous,
Plays with this naiivete
In her early minglings,
Willing to be led,
Willing to dare,
Willing, too, to wield the sword
Even if only to break
Her own malleability
Turn less willing
less ready
On her vigil constantly.

Shhh

2009-11-06T09:35:00.001+05:30

The sea brings my day to me,

And the lullaby to slumber.

Last night, he came a tad sooner,

Whispering a tide on my shore.

He slipped in through no secret door

No crevices led him in

He needed no permission,

I couldn't bar his entry.

Shhh, he grunted.

Lying

2009-11-06T09:34:00.001+05:30

If Inheritance was a matter of life,
the hack of a knife,
the control of a fief,
the sobs of a wife,
And, the inevitable cause for strife,
We’d be lying-
through our teeth,
in our graves,
Uncomfortably,
on a wooden bed,
Scared to tread
in the face of death;
Not enamoured
by its vividness;
Knowing
of what is to come;
of oozing blood,
the colour of plum.
Rotting.
Worms nibbling away at its ripe dead flesh,
so it remains not underutilised,
so it is left unscrutinised,
Not speculated in its after-death
Of what its deeds were,
And were not.

Leave

2009-11-06T09:30:00.002+05:30

This night-
Oh! This night of September
With its marker- the Bombay evening breeze,
This night that carries with it many untellables,
This night, whose stubborn limbs
Refuse to budge,
Must leave tonight, without a trace
Of its having come in the first place,
Tonight she must at last relent
And relieve its wounded
Of her descent
For the capsized boat to unturn
So the still-born might breathe to life.

Fly

2009-11-06T09:16:00.001+05:30

There is a fly,
It deserves to die:
It is very irritating.
Spreading illness like that
Bringing shit to your hat
It's a claimant on collective hating.
Rubbing its hinds,
About to devour your health
Disgusting like a Star Wars villain.
Let the Electric Fly killers
Attract them and burn them
Let the swatters take care of the carcasses inflight
Let newspapers get to their real jobs
Let the hum finally cease.