and a zephyr enters
your body Continue reading “Zephyr”
and a zephyr enters
your body Continue reading “Zephyr”
It was the night of a year-end. We were on the road in San Francisco, showing a New Yorker friend this city in night. Between the ocean and the sky there was no gap- they both were tucked in a blanket of fog. The city was so silent that we could hear our breath.
Continue reading “Youth: A note”
In so many colors life happens,
but memory has always the color
of the hour when the sun
kisses a marigold,
asleep. Continue reading “Xanthic”
I can tell you what I have learnt till now,
that womanhood comes with a list,
a list that people made for you when
you were secure and warm in your mother’s womb,
and from then..
as long as you live, you burn that unending list
in every forest fire that tries to crack open
a crimson gash in your world. Continue reading “Womanhood”
Our neighbor, tall and smiling and generous, the
wife of one and mother of three, is sick. I did not
know it until I saw her in the garden, plucking
white jasmines for all gods she kept in her shrine,
beside that her long hair was short, and her skin
pale as yesterday’s old flowers, her forehead
without the big round vermilion dot. Nothing unusual
in her voice when she, in her regular cheerful tone,
asked me to visit for lunch. Continue reading “Vermilion”
This morning you realized
that your mind is as ubiquitous
as the deeper blue sky
you both are the poems
that the wind writes
from close and far Continue reading “Ubiquitous”
“The truth is not always beautiful, nor beautiful words the truth.” ― Lao Tzu
I read the way a deer might run,
to save her life.
I write that way too. Continue reading “Truths”
Someone once asked me if the valley was made of Silicon or silicone.
Not really. The valley is made of ideas, ideas that change the world. Change that grows on us.
Sometimes the world wants to look large on a small browser window, then it happily shrinks within mobile applications. Keyboards go virtual. People make friendship with each other without real meetings. People create their versions on different platforms to find like-minded acquaintances. On road one day I find self-driving cars within a few feet. Continue reading “Silicon Valley and Sourdough”
I have some favorite spots by the ocean. Many times I follow those ocean side trails or just sit up-close to watch waves playfully hitting the rocks. Pacific here is not calm, but truly magical after the rain. The waves fall, break, spread their water swiftly, withdraw and fall again, like the entire process is in harmony. Continue reading “Rhythm”
Places that no longer
exist call you at times.
That’s how you dream of
foggy mountains on
a warm afternoon,
and long for that
neon-lit palace from
the buried slants. Continue reading “Quivering”
Arrange the books in alphabetical order. Wipe them once a week.
When you are done, touch them again, tell them you adore nothing else.
Water your plants. Throw away every bit of dirt from their body.
And while you do that, stare at those raindrops on the windowpane.
Cherish rain even though it covers your shoes with mud. Continue reading “Perfectionist”
“Being a writer is a very peculiar sort of a job: it’s always you versus a blank sheet of paper (or a blank screen) and quite often the blank piece of paper wins.” ― Neil Gaiman
I had a neighbor who used to write, and paint, and read a lot. His bright house looked like a museum, decorated with his own paintings, and words collected from his own wise life. His wife was a great cook who loved feeding me some soul-stirring food from her kitchen. To me, they were the live examples of creative people full of life and optimism. I frequently presented them as example when friends called creativity “dark” and “lonely.” Continue reading “Optimism in Creativity”
“No” will give you isolation,
and time to carve
every inch of who
you want to be. Continue reading “No”
It was evening, and not winter anymore.
A duck swam alone to her direction,
making ripples on her
and the world waited
like a patient student
just to watch her. Continue reading “Mindful”
When you lie on the bed
and imagine yourself away,
out of boundaries,
on a highway,
and a sunset
over the red hill. Continue reading “Life is what happens to you”
I remember who I am.
And every time I see grief
I’m reminded of poetry
of the ocean, lying in peace,
smooth and blue. Continue reading “Keen”
“The reason the beasts give among themselves is that Man is the weakest and most defenseless of all living things, and it is unsportsmanlike to touch him.”- Rudyard Kipling,
It’s Sunday. All windows are open to welcome the sun in the house. I can smell French toast in the air. My mom is talking to the help in the kitchen. Four eyes glued on the TV. Dad and I, not ready to move an inch from our drawing room. On screen, Shere Khan is threatening Mowgli. There is an argument going on in the wolf family about the acceptance of a human being. I’m thinking of moving to some jungle. At least it won’t be this sunny. I’m allowed to have half a cup of tea with sub-merged biscuit today. My tea is already cold. But I don’t mind. I look at my dad and whisper, “Now what?”
“Life is not a plot; it’s in the details.” ―
He is reading my analysis for twenty minutes now, stretching his legs upward on the edge of the table. Outside his glass wall, some of my close friends are waiting for me to go for a tea break. I get bored when people read my stuff silently. I get annoyed when my friends take tea breaks without me. But I can’t ask him anything now. This is the analysis I made after working ten hours a day. This is the analysis that kept me away from food, shower, and even my most favorite TV shows. I worked on every minute detail before calling it an analysis. After another ten silent minutes, he looks at me with a smile, saying, “It’s a great analysis- you covered everything. But can you make it short?” Continue reading “In Short”
Two feet standing on the hill.
A road zigzagging its way
up to a destination, a hopeful
morning smiling to all greens
after a week of rain.
Well, you got the whole day-
greens everywhere invite you to them. Continue reading “Hillside”
When you pronounce the word Future,
I look at the fluttering of your eyelids.
Like traveler birds, they sit restless,
waiting for next season to fly away. Continue reading “Grounded”
Writing fiction is the act of weaving a series of lies to arrive at a greater truth. ― Khaled Hosseini
It was one lazy Sunday afternoon. My husband decided to do cooking and laundry to give me a break from those mundane weekend activities. Alone in a corner, I was reading the first story from Jhumpa Lahiri’s “Unaccustomed Earth” and I was sobbing.
There was a part about mother-daughter relationship that made me speculate about a time in future when my mother won’t be around. Continue reading “Fictions and Feelings”
Your thin life, waking
up in morning,
to appreciate the glowing
day, brief and so beautiful. Continue reading “Enlightened”
This pain is momentary,
it will fade like
scar on your skin,
like snowballs in April sun. Continue reading “Dreams”
I grew up having home cooked meal four times a day. A meal together was celebratory.
During many festivals in a year, people from extended family came together and made different kind of food. I hardly remember what we celebrated in those festivals. But I can never forget what each family cooked and what we ate. Continue reading “Cooked”
“How quick and rushing life can sometimes seem, when at the same time it’s so slow and sweet and everlasting.” ― Tomorrow
In my side of the world, spring passes quickly. If I haven’t been out with my camera for two weeks, I find trees in floral. If I don’t see those trees for another week, the trees hide themselves in light green leaves. And then in another week, there are so green that suddenly the world looks summery. Continue reading “Bougainvillea”
Like an anecdote, April reminds me of
warmth of childhood, smell of potting
soil soaked in rain, new lives
emerging from the same dull root
that decided to hibernate. Continue reading “April is an anecdote”