Wednesday, December 24, 2008


The Christmas tree gleamed in all its glory,
With gifts wrapped, labelled
And laid neatly underneath.
Greeting cards from loved ones arranged next to it, accordingly.
Everyone seemed busy preparing for the next day,
The dawn that freed the world from perpetual obscurity.

The house shone bright and glorious
With the spirit of yuletide.
Every face carried the warmth and charm
Of good tidings and cheer.
These were the few blissful moments
He cherished everyday.

Just after he woke up
And before he began the day.
He would rerun the night before Christmas
Right before his eyes like it was yesterday.
Well, this is the routine of a Soldier
Who guards our nation by the border all day.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

The Predator, Preyed Upon

On a pale, foggy, dew kissed dawn,
Emerged two jaded images out of the dark.
The young one carried a long shovel,
While the older clasped a blood stained prong.

With cold sweat running down their spines,
They stepped out of an old yard of abandoned graves.
The aged, impious beast was now dead and obscured.
It would return no more to quench its insatiable thirst.

Deep down, its mind, lurked lust without a moment of respite.
A pretentious companion of good conduct to the world.
Wedlock was a subterfuge, and infidelity was its way of life.
Before it could prey on its own blood, the predator itself became the kill.

Monday, December 15, 2008


Delirious flesh overpowering the frail inner voice,
A bite into the fruit of temptation, the Fallen’s irresistible bait.

Soul sold to guilt and remorse till date,
For ignoring the Lamb who laid His life to pay the debt.

Infidelity, gluttony, lust, murder and greed,
Sins committed by brutally killing the scruples.

The brutal slit of the golden goose’s belly
Only to discover the gaping void of misery.

Midas’ wish for the golden touch,
In lieu of his darling offspring’s loss.

Succumbed to temptation,
The flesh wins the race.

The spirit rides the dark horse,
Galloping backwards away from even the last place.

Who’s to be blamed? The accused victim
Or the lethal desire that rules the human race.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

To Santa from Puttu

With a red woolen stocking and a notepad, he ran
Hurriedly to his bedroom window.
Tore the first sheet along the perforated line,
Put it into the stocking, the list reads as below:

“A summer vacation whenever I feel like I need one,
A magical pencil to finish homework in no time.
A school bag that wouldn’t cling on my back
But walk, hand in hand, by my side.

Heavy downpour at the snap of my finger,
Paper boats that wouldn’t sink in rainwater;
Sun shining faintly like it does during winter
And paper planes that would fly forever.

A tricolor kite that would hide in the clouds
And a flashlight to make the stars look down with half-shut eyes.
Play football all day on an empty MG Road.
Sleep till noon, ignoring the alarm clock and sunrise.

A secret spot to hide in Ammamma’s house while playing I Spy;
Never to be caught when I play Lock & Key.
Lots of toys to play whenever I stay at home,
And the Christmas season should last all year long.”

It was Christmas Eve, and now it was half past ten.
He knew Santa would visit him tonight
And he had checked his list twice by then
Cos he knew, all through the year he was real nice.

Rushing into the blanket he hid himself,
Pretended as though he was fast asleep.
This time he wanted to see Santa, and at least an elf.
The clock struck twelve but he couldn’t resist the sleep.

This happened during a Christmas almost two decades back.
Today, when he thinks of it, he just laughs it off.
Yet he hopes someday, his one wish, Santa would grant.
Which is, the Christmas season would last all year long.

Monday, December 01, 2008

Long Distance Dedication

“Good Evening everybody,
welcome to the Afterdark hours.
It’s Friday again and the weekend is here”
Said the RJ with a husky voice.

Few dedications rolled out as he read his mails.
Then lines were opened to his dear listeners.
Some teenage kid spoke in the beginning followed by a young female.
The tunes requested were played on air, one after another.

Then came a sober voice,
Which looked like he’d dialed the wrong number.
He asked for a pizza place and that’s when the RJ realized.
He told the caller it was a live show, hence told him to request a number.

Half heartedly but a little baffled,
He hesitantly told “I don’t really know what to say”.
The RJ was very courteous he told him how it worked.
And asked if he had someone special and a song he’d want to play.

Without thinking twice he said he had nobody,
And he just returned from a Juvenile Prison;
Then he asked hesitantly
if it’s ok to make a long distance dedication.

The RJ said “Well Sir, this is a local radio station
but if it can reach them I have no objection”.
The listener replied “I hope she can hear it.
But either ways I’d like you to play it.”

Now the RJ told “Go ahead! Tell me your good name,
The one you’d like to dedicate it to and your dedication”
“To my dearest mom” he said, “this is from her Lil Sunbeam.
Please play ‘Mama, I’m coming home’. I hope she gets this station
in her part of heaven.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Weather Report

The weather’s triggering chaos all over the place.
Yet I’m beginning to love every move it makes.
Imagine the gloomy mushroom like umbrella
Turning inside out to look like a blooming blossom over your head.

Listening to the wind howl
As it goes window shopping outside the room.
Even a light drizzles gets swept off its feet
By the suave yet burly breeze.

Rainwater puddles making themselves cozy in potholes.
Frogs singing to the wind’s tune
And raindrops’ rhythm,
Despite their poor, sore throat.

Dogs look sleek with their gelled hairdo
And crows sporting a spiked up look.
Trees stand tall refreshed
And green after a cool shower.

There’s so much more to say, I’ve in fact left out a lot;
Will continue with some more whenever I’m back.
For now, I’m off to peer into the world
Through the raindrops that cling to the clothesline on my terrace.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Pick of the day

A walk down to the corner shop
Under the scorching midday sun.
Sweat trickling down the forehead;
On a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Three bloody, extra ripe tomatoes,
Small sachets of red chilly, turmeric and cilantro powder.
Oil, jaded green chilies and two tear jerking onions
And to garnish some curry leaves and coriander.

A glass of cold water to quench the thirst
After returning home.
Some music in the background
To set the right mood.

A stainless steel knife, chopping board
Non-stick pan and a hot plate that’s turned on.
First the oil and then onions slither down the teflon,
Curry leaves and powders follow as they turn golden brown.

Moment of silence for the slain tomatoes,
Then everything goes in with lil water.
Stirring them well with a spork the aroma escapes.
Dash of salt and coriander. Tomato Curry's ready to be served.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

The Dark Maiden

Lend your ears to my humble plea. Don’t just read;
Not many passersby really pay heed.
They simply roll their iris from left to right.
Till it’s time for them to leave.

Here I am, imprisoned in a towering wooden fortress.
Arm yourself with the twin edged sword of skill.
Put on your armor of intellect
And march forth, oh! gallant soul, and liberate me.

Tear these walls down;
Hold me by your hand.
Take me to your world.
And unleash the words that are caged within.

Take charge and guide me;
Lead me with your wisdom’s beacon.
Let me be the medium
To converge your expressions;

I’ll be your spear.
Now, take aim and shoot your point of view.
I’ll be your envoy to echo those silent thoughts,
That reside in the abyss of your psyche’s labyrinth.

Strengthen me with slogans of courage.
Make me yours with verses of love.
Don’t let me die an ill-fated virgin’s death;
Make me your thoughts’ eternal soul mate.

Mend me with your words of solace,
Sharpen me with your vivid inspiring thoughts.
Let me live even after I die,
Through those immortal words of yours.

Give my existence a purpose.
Don’t let me be what I am right now.
Help me reach my destiny
Set me free and take me along.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Puttu and Chethi

Sliding the big bolt of an old green gate,
He stood on the lowest grill and pushed himself in.
Sliding smoothly he moved forth with a creaking noise,
Jumping off that rail he ran towards the doorbell.

He jumped as high as he could and struck the doorbell switch.
Ammamma closed the gate and walked in after him.
Once. Twice. Thrice. The bell rang and the door opened bit by bit.
A smile with a pair of teeth peeping out welcomed them.

Puttu was excited to see his cousin Chethi after a long time.
He was surprised to see Puttu standing at the door.
He rushed in and they both jumped in joy.
It was summer so they knew they’d spend the entire day, together.

They both ran to the showcase without wasting any time.
Chethi was totally thrilled to show his Christmas gift, the toy plane.
That very moment Puttu tried reaching it but the plane soared high.
With eyes and mouth wide open he saw it fly in Chethi’s hand.

Smoothly it landed back in the showcase,
That instant Puttu snatched it and ran holding it up.
Chethi chased him till they reached the terrace.
Tired and breathing heavily they gave up and settled on the stone bench.

The next plan was to make paper planes and set it on flight.
Hunting down red ants and dropping them in empty jam jars,
Then building a home for frogs with leftover bricks in the backyard;
And bursting that box of crackers from last Diwali was also on their agenda.

Summer was their best time of the year.
Time was what belonged to that old clock that hanged on the wall.
The world moved at their pace and at times it would even wait.
They had no plans nor did they rush for absolutely anything at all.

They had all the time in the world to while away.
Little did they know that this season, once gone, would never return;
Parallel lives and geographical boundaries would tear them apart.
Maybe, deep down, they already knew that tomorrow’s ignorance is today’s bliss.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

when baffled...

Why’s that we get hassled, too easily,
When we’re in some kind of trouble?
Why can’t we look beyond
When we’re faced by a hurdle?
Perhaps, we’re standing too close,
To the unsolved jigsaw puzzle.
Overshadowed by the fear of losing,
We don’t even risk moving ahead.
It’s ok to take a few steps back.
To get the clear, big picture.
Now, leap not until you’ve taken a moment,
And given the next step a deep thought.
Cos it doesn’t really take a bullet to burst a bubble.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Post Card

All alone he was searching at the bookstore,
Looking for a post card to send across.
Some had pictures of places that were old and famous.
The beach, the monuments and snapshots of streets,
Portraits and caricatures of eminent people.
And some had vivid paintings from painters of great fame.

Some carried a few lines from templates
That looked sweet, fine and clich├ęd.
After dusk, a few more hours;
Flipping through the racks, high and low;
There wasn’t even one that awed him at a single glance.
More than a few hundreds he scanned but nothing could complement her.

Not that she was too hard to please.
It’s just that he couldn’t make up his mind.
Though the choices were many
That special one he couldn’t really find.
So he settled to put this exclusive scribble
Behind a plain post card.

Thursday, October 02, 2008


Is what I call this; you may call it by any other name.

I’ve tried to put together to express what I feel right now.

If you may. Don’t just simply read.

Come closer. Take a good look at it before you leave.

Don’t you dare. Return whenever you find more time to splurge.

Let your eyes flow on, word by word as you move.

I recommend, in between every line.

There’s no hurry in arriving at a conclusion.

I owe you for your time and patience.

Undoubtedly you are, if you could make sense out of this.

Is what I’d also call this. To perfectly kill time.

They differ. They always do. Yours and mine.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

seeking absolution

Unforgiven and gray, he sat alone;
Surrounded by sedge and a militia of mice,
In a dark dungeon corner.

He craved to breathe the whiff of independence.
But chained down, there he lay, to the anvil of peccadillo.
He was now a prisoner of consequence;

His offense was unpardonable
By his love who was bruised by his words.
Now the slip seemed completely irreversible;

The Fallen, he was in her sight;
Succumbed badly to the gravity of haze.
Yet he never lost his will to rise.

Capitol punishment or life imprisonment,
He didn’t really bother about the worldly verdict.
He died, when he learnt his love was misunderstood, that very moment.

But he awaits her presence, patiently, even today.
With undeterred hope, his eyes peer beyond the prison bars.
That she’ll absolve, and come to bail him out, someday.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Love Note

It’s been quite deafening all the time.
This seems never ending, the silence in between.
I pretend that the distance between us will shrink,
But I don’t really know if we’d ever get to meet.

I’m sure you read my thoughts,
Even though we seldom talk.
We occasionally exchange glances,
Unless it’s your reflection I chance upon.

Our visions meet in unison,
Yet, apart, we’ve always stayed.
We share our life’s mission;
And parallel lives we’re destined to lead.

When happy or hurt
We’ll shed tears for each other.
No matter what we do.
We’ll remain together in thought. Forever.

We’re two beings of a single soul.
It’s more than just love that unites us.
I hope you understand my love for you,
Which I’m expressing through this Scribbler’s quill,
I’m the other eye who lives by your side.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Time Trader

You’re here with absolutely nothing to do.
Or are you here because you’re rich with leisure?
I do understand that time is a luxury,
Which not many can afford to squander.
But it seems like your hourglass is up to the brim.

Let’s strike a deal.
The returns will exceed your expectations.
Let’s play a game where you’ll be in the lead.
There are no rules to follow and no guidelines to adhere.
Break ‘em, bend ‘em or just don’t pay heed.

Splurge if you may as this day might not return.
Hang around for a while if boredom’s riding on your back.
I’ll try to keep you busy in my world,
Just let your iris follow me from word to word,
And then your mind and soul, together, will play along.

Let me begin the game,
Go ahead! Stand upright. Get set at the Start line.
There are no retakes and you can’t start all over again.
Make your first move as I roll the dice.
You’ve traded your time to be my pawn.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Sacrifices to blessings

Off to the place I left behind sometime ago,
I’m returning to my haven where I belong.
Just a couple of days yet it seems like years have gone.
Cos it’s the first time I’ve stayed far from home.

The wait has ended now I got to go.
To meet some souls that wait for this estranged soul.
With arms wide open, I see them waiting with bated breath.
They seldom know that I’m returning again to the place where I’m from.

The road that opened up to new opportunities as I moved,
Is happy to see me again as I go back for a moment.
It speaks to me without words by showing me the horizon;
It silently says to return in peace cos there’s still a long way to go.

I remember leaving behind a whole lot of things,
Some of it can be reclaimed and some will remain unchanged.
Few moments that can’t be reversed and a few things I may have to let go.
Because I believe that yesterday’s sacrifices become blessings of tomorrow.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Puttu at the beach

A big leap from the auto to the tiled floor,
He landed on the pedestrian walk by the seashore.
Dad and mom one after another followed,
As they stepped out of the same auto.
This was the day he’d been waiting for all along.

He squeezed between them
And gently gripped both his folks’ index fingers.
Taking tiny little steps one by one
He walked, hopped, swung back and forth
Clinging down from his folks hands.

Sinking his feet into the sand, one after another
He kicked the sand into the air as they walked further.
The cool breeze brushed his face and slowly messed with his hair.
He was seldom bothered as he knew there was something bigger in store.
He looked up and froze, for a moment, as he stared into the horizon.

So much water he had never seen till date.
Even his school’s swimming pool seemed like a small bowl of water.
With a small fisherman’s boat sailing at a distance really far away,
The water looked pristine and blue like he’d seen in his colouring books.
He wondered and looked around for the big crayon, which gave the sea that blue.

Waves galloped steadily towards Puttu as he stood at the shore.
A lil scared and lot thrilled he watched the waves in wonder.
It seemed as though the waves were excited to see the curious visitor.
Excited on his arrival they cheered with a subtle uproar.
They pounced at his feet but Puttu ran away as fast as he could.

They swept beneath his feet and Puttu jumped, and ran.
Yet they were successful in touching his tender heels.
Standing at a distance he figured out they were actually playing a game.
He ran towards them teasingly as they failed and retreated.
And took to his feet the moment they rushed back again to grab him.

Mom and dad kept an eye on him sitting on a nearby rock,
Puttu never got tired; neither did the sea.
Finally, he ran to his folks and asked them for his nano sized water can.
Mom refused and told that the sea water is salty and not safe for drinking.
Puttu just smiled and said “Ma! I’m just going to bring along some
to play with me at home”.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Puttu at his First Movie - The African Safari

He looked up at the big poster that hung from a big wall.
Standing with his granny in a long queue,
With his little pair of hands he shielded his face
Against the scorching sun’s rays;

The people in the row moved at snail’s pace,
Step by step they finally made it to the ticket counter.
Puttu stood on his toes to see through the semi circular hole,
He saw a big bundle of pink papers and a pair of hands tearing them off.

Granny took two tickets in exchange for some money,
She gave it to Puttu and escorted him out of the line.
Both climbed up the broad, spiral stair case,
This led to a giant glass door next to which stood a tall old man.

Asking for tickets he smiled at Puttu looking down upon him.
He refused first, shaking his head, and looked at granny with an angry face.
Granny gently assured him with a smile and took the tickets from his hands.
Puttu was puzzled to see the oldie tear the ticket in to two like a mad man.

Holding onto granny’s index finger in one hand,
And a pair of half torn tickets in the other;
They stood near a half open door, which seemed like the biggest in the world;
Puttu looked petrified to see such a big wooden door;

He pulled granny’s hand twice and looked up to her,
Granny looking down at him asked “What’s the matter?”
“Is this the gateway to Africa, Ammamma?” He questioned filled with fear.
For this she laughed and told Puttu “You’ll know when you’re inside my dear”.

Rows of chairs with heads popping up here and there,
The hall was partially dark with dim lights but he could clearly see,
“Is this Africa all about? Puttu asked again in a soft voice.
After all, it wasn’t dark or scary as he thought it would be.

Out of nowhere a man surfaced with a big torchlight,
Puttu was almost taken aback and almost anxious
To see him peer into the torn tickets,
After which he led them to the centre row, corner seats.

The chair was comfy and Puttu began to bounce and recline,
The excitement seemed never ending till he saw a huge curtain.
As it lifted up people began to whistle and kids started to clap,
“What’s the big deal?” he thought “It’s just a plain white cloth like his bedspread.”

It completely turned dark followed by the ring of a bell,
He held granny’s hand tightly and granny told “Ssshh! Puttu, just wait and watch”.
Colourful slides appeared on the big screen and there was silence everywhere.
Some titles appeared with music but before Puttu could read they quickly changed.

The screen was covered by a gigantic figure,
It was the enormous African Elephant.
Puttu clapped in total excitement like never before,
He felt like he’d seen it all even though the movie had just begun.

Giraffes, Deer, Snakes, Hyenas and Lions,
Every scene had a surprise in store for him.
Granny helped him by repeating the narration,
He watched with curious eyes, relating to everything, about Africa, he had once heard.

The Cheetahs hunting a herd of Buffaloes,
Ants together building an ant hill,
Hippos lazily basking in the sun and lying in water holes,
Chimpanzees busy in their own world handling their monkey business.

Ostriches stretching those small wings and walking with long legs,
Geckos escaping from Rattle snakes and slipping into holes,
Rhinos running through the wilderness or standing still wagging tiny tails,
And Hyenas laughing over some old joke;

The movie ended with a mustering of storks flying into the sunset.
Three hours just flew past before he even knew,
And the lights came on as the movie came to an end.
He looked at Ammamma with an enlightened smile.

“Let’s go Ammmamma” he said pulling her towards the screen.
Ammamma said “The exit is on the other side Puttu, not that way.”
Instantly a reply came from Puttu’s lil lips, it left Ammamma thinking.
He told “Now let’s go and meet the animals behind that big, white bedspread”.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Puttu and his Birthday Gift

Squatting on the mosaic floor,
His hands were busily putting together something.
Two boxes, one big and the other a size smaller;
To steal his attention from it there wasn’t absolutely anything.

The fan turned in full speed over his head,
A smile surfaced on his face as he stood straight,
Wiping some drops of sweat that were on his forehead.
He took a sip from the glass of lemonade that was by his side.

It was a big toy train track, which he had just assembled.
Jet black in colour and in the shape of number eight;
On the tracks were a brand new engine followed by six bogeys.
Next to it was a small Station with a Station Master who held a pair of flags.

With a coal black engine that had a blunt but long nose,
The train looked brand new and its compartments were in dark blue.
They had windows on the sides with tiny people seated in rows.
It worked with a small key that had to be turned to make it move.

One, two, three, four, and he heard the creaking noise,
That was the signal, which the toy shop uncle had told,
He stopped turning the key round and round.
Now the train was all set to leave on its maiden tour.

Holding the train tightly on its track in one hand,
With his other hand he made the Station Master signal green.
Huff and puff noises he made in the background,
Left the train to speed and break the speed of sound.

A round of applause followed as he stood on his feet,
Like a proud owner he watched it merrily.
As he saw it taking a turn around the curve,
He remembered his first trip to Chennai, during the last summer.

The platform was bustling with people from world over,
Everyone seemed like they were lost and looking around;
Like a scattered army of red ants from a broken anthill,
Porters clad in red ran around carrying heavy loads.

Some sat or slept on the platform benches,
It seemed like they were residents with no train to wait.
The announcement sounded like it was from a machine,
Which told the timings of arrival and departure of every train.

The predominant pale blue inside the lengthy compartments,
With a series of fans and lights from one end to the other,
Looked down from above as they hung from the ceilings,
And some passengers were seated with faces covered with newspapers.

Voices from either sides shouting “Tea, coffee! Tea, coffee!!”
People asking for alms singing an old song or wearing a sorry face;
Idli, dosa, vada and sandwiches were at your reach for a sum of money.
Toys, books, maps and charts were also sold by people at every phase.

The train started to move and it gained momentum,
Sitting by the window he felt the strong wind stroke his hair and go.
As the metallic serpent raced over the split Siamese twin tracks,
Hills, trees, bushes and poles played spectators watching it move.

There was so much to see both inside and outside,
His eyes were wide open, in curiosity, like never before.
Dad was right next to him as though he was his Tour Guide,
Telling “Did you know?” facts and stories about everything Puttu saw.

Just then he was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder,
He rushed back from the land of memories.
And turned around to see his mom looking at his prized possession,
She patted his back and praised him for the effort he’d made.

He raised his right brow and flashed a smart smile,
As though this was not at all some kind of a big feat;
Mom asked Puttu “So, when you grow up you’re going to do this?”
Puttu replied “No Mummy, I just like trains ever since I traveled in it”

“I only like trains but I’ve always loved planes.
Trains have a track to follow and they just don’t go beyond.
But Planes have the entire sky as there aren’t ruled by any rails.
I too want to be like them. To soar higher and not be earth bound.”

“Make my own path and go the distance where nobody else has gone.
Pierce through clouds and fly above them. Yet leave no trail behind.”
Hearing this mom’s jaws dropped as she was amazed by Puttu's wisdom.
She lifted him high up and planted a kiss on his little forehead.

He freed himself from mom’s hands and jumped on the floor.
Now the train was about to slowly halt at the station below.
He waved the red flag holding the tiny hand of the Station Master.
Squatting on the floor he turned its key again and set it into motion.

Saturday, July 05, 2008

The Drop

Falling down into the oblivion,
I could hardly find the rock bottom earth.
Thinking it’s a dream I tried to wake myself up,
Just then I landed slickly on my feet.

Darkness all around,
I could hardly see my own nose.
Lost and estranged I felt,
Just then a ray of light pierced my eyes.

Led by instinct I followed the light.
Into an opening I squeezed myself out.
The narrow opening sealed up behind me
As I struggled my way through;

With a staff in my hand,
A pouch of silver in the other,
And a hood on my head
I found myself in a crimson robe.

The cobble stone boulevard looked deserted
Till I took a turn around the corner;
To my surprise the street unfurled itself
All around there was chaos churned by many hawkers.

With clouds resting over its edges,
and its tip doing the balancing act,
An inverted pyramid scaled skywards,
Surrounded by hawkers calling out for buyers;

This abstruse marvel was at the center of the mystic souk.
And its shade was the shelter for traders both big and small.
Some sat in tents and some with goods spread on the streets.
Each one had something or the other to offer that looked bizarre or vile.

The first stop was at a mannequin and vase vendor.
Crystal, glass, clay and porcelain,
He had a plethora to offer for every customer.
And in each he had captured the spirit of a gremlin.

Startled for a second, I just moved forth.
A few yards away sat a real old man with a blue beard.
Stacked up in his tent were cycles and clocks,
Timeless unicycles, sundials, hourglasses and single hand timepieces.

Everything had a similar price tag,
This read ‘Your soul or a feline’s nine lives’;
And the most illusory fact of these possessions was
The hands of the dial moved anti-clockwise.

Gasping every moment and taken aback
By whatever I saw,
I kept on walking, tirelessly, looking around
Trying to find a purpose behind this endeavor.

I’d almost seen each and every stall,
Except the weirdest and the biggest of them all.
It was the pyramid itself which I finally had to glance.
At its tip were a platform and an elliptical entrance.

The dim light of oil lamps welcomed me as I entered.
They were on either sides of the staircase
That spiraled up to an attic.
Reaching there I saw something I’d least imagined.

Amidst cobwebs and fine dust
There were rows of dolls arranged on shelves of the walls.
At the far end of the big chamber, its little caretaker, stood.
He looked like a kid who’s really puny and small, from afar;

Humming a tune he limped slowly towards me with radiance.
An old, one eyed, albino dwarf with blonde hair and pointed ears,
He wore a wicked grin on his wrinkled face,
Carried a doll that imitated my image;

Stretching his other hand forward,
He asked for the pouch with silver in my hand.
That’s when I realized he wanted to trade.
Silver for soul that was in the voodoo doll;

I felt perplexed the very moment I knew,
But my mind wanted to play the fool.
Knocking the dwarf’s head with my staff,
I tried to seize the doll off his hand.

Apparently, it didn’t make much of a difference,
He stood like a rock, three feet tall.
I tried to run but I just couldn’t,
Holding the doll up in the air he began an arcane chant.

Pulled out a needle with a diamond eye
That was hidden under his sleeve;
Into the voodoo doll’s heart he pierced it deep,
I could feel an unseen sliver penetrate me.

Frozen in pain I closed my eyes tight,
I wished I was dead than go through the pain.
The world around turned dark and I felt like I’d lost my sight.
Into the oblivion I, once again, continued to fall.

Tuesday, July 01, 2008


Staring at the passersby
On a newly built wall.
He sat under the scorching sun
And the incessant rain,
immobile, unshaken.

Partly turning green,
Losing shape over time;
People seldom looked at him.
And even if some did,
Each one had an opinion of their own.

Some thought he was a reject.
A few called him an outcast.
Whereas, some thought of him
Without even thinking twice
That he was one of the leftovers of a lot.

On a gloomy, winter noon,
A crow sat on his shoulder after lunch,
It gave him company all through the noon,
Without exchanging glances or words.
They just silently stared at the busy road.

The crow tilted his head left and right,
Looking on either sides of the road.
Curious looking at every subject and the rat race,
But our protagonist sat there unimpressed,
Sporting his usual deadpan face.

People crossed them from life’s different facets.
Some were really old walking down, step by step,
While the youngest ran mischievously, up and down.
Vehicles and vehicles were all they could see.
In fact, he recalled it was one of these that had brought him here.

A burp or two and some droppings white,
The crow felt a little light to resume its flight.
Sharpening its beak on the snow capped observer’s shoulder,
The crow lifted off into the air
But jerked him towards the wall's edge.

Trying really hard to hang on,
He somehow managed to balance for a while.
Suddenly, the crow returned and sat again.
Apparently, he gave up as he lost his balance.
Straight down, he plummeted but the crow flew away, loudly, cawing.

On the ground he lay on his back.
The world looked like it had turned upside down.
Fallen apart and broken into tiny bits,
His past flashed right before his eyes.
In fast forward motion like a biopic.

The big furnace in which he was born.
The tiled warehouse where he was never alone;
Looking up to the tall chimney that smoked all day.
The tough times he had to go through before he was chosen.
Swinging from one pair of hands to another as he boarded a big truck.

The long journey he made on a truck’s back.
Reaching the place where he had to fulfill a purpose.
And being left behind as the odd one out;
Just about every moment of his life he recalled.
The vision blurred and it went blank.

He suddenly felt like he woke up from deep slumber,
Wore a brand new look as he was being carried away in thin air;
Discovered in a place he always dreamt of.
There were bricks, bricks and bricks all around.
In all shapes, sizes, shades and colours.

He was excited like never before.
At last, he’d found a place where he belonged.
Just when he was searching for a place to settle down,
He saw a similar wall across the street.
Aiming at the ridge of the wall he began to move.

To his amazement he was picked by a tender pair of hands.
Before he knew he was at a big construction site.
The foundation of which was just being laid.
He was placed carefully at the heart of the site.
He heaved a sigh of relief when he heard a booming voice say
“The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone today.”

Saturday, June 28, 2008


With eyes closed, she reclined on the futon.
It was the darkest night of monsoon,
The downpour wore a dark disguise,
As it descended from the sinister skies.

Her legs were stretched out
And it rested on the nearby ottoman.
She kept a hand over her head
While the other had her mod jukebox.

Lost in the world of keys and strings,
She was under the spell of harmony.
Ears plugged to the gizmo that crooned to her command,
She was no more in the world she lived in.

The thunder growled and the lightning whacked,
Seldom did she pay heed to that delicate clamor;
She was now in a realm of her own,
Living every phase that had slipped through her fist.

Now her favourite tune began,
She sensed a tingle at her feet;
As a pair of lips kissed her under sole,
She surrendered herself to that corporeal feel.

The tune played on, the invasion carried forth.
Her lips turned dry and the thirst took over.
Wringing the upholstery, she perched on the couch.
She shut her eyes tight and clenched her fist.

She could feel the warmth all over her.
Submissive was she, as this continued,
The cold rain poured inside out,
She lost control and her dominion was conquered.

Slowly the lips reached hers and kissed a coy smile,
Beaming with bliss she opened her eyes.
Confronted with darkness she was startled for a while.
Rubbing her sleepy eyes she peered into the night.

The tune faded slowly as she came back to life.
Once again she smiled, but this time, with bitter tears.
Thinking to herself that the ghosts of the past never leave,
Playing the same tune all over again, she reclined closing her eyes.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Puttu's Weekend

The world followed him whichever way he went;
He sat behind with his back facing dad’s back.
He loved to go on rides this way almost everyday,
On the pillion of dad’s scooter
But turned around towards the road he sat.

Trees waved at him goodbye,
He sped away but they were all left way behind.
People walked backwards and glanced at him in awe.
He tried counting the white lines that were strewn orderly on the road,
As their scooter zipped ahead.

Clouds stood still looking down at him amazed,
Birds tried to catch up with him but they just couldn’t.
He made noises of the roaring engine and a cacophonic horn,
As if he was driving a big truck, he frequently changed its imaginary gears.
And maneuvered skillfully holding onto the spare wheel at the scooter’s rear;

The road looked never ending and he wished they’d never stop.
He had no clue where dad was taking him this time,
He’d put a million questions but none got a satisfying reply.
Surprise was one thing which Puttu disliked as it made him look bewildered,
But the ride was so enjoyable that he really didn’t bother.

Just then the scooter came to a screeching halt
Right next to a tall compound wall.
He slid behind and gently fell on his dad’s back.
Suddenly, he looked up as he heard a familiar noise,
And his hope filled, big smile returned as a plane flew lowly over his head.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

U 2?

I don’t feel so good today;
Feels like this is just not my day.
I know this isn’t the right way to start.
Can’t really think of what’s wrong,
Could you spare a moment and walk along?

Perhaps, you have better things to do.
Something more important to look into;
Someone to meet or someone to call and speak to
Or an appointment you have to reschedule.
I appreciate you taking time off and hanging around.

I’m in no mood to rhyme.
And I guess I don’t really want to complain.
Now did that rhyme?
Hmmm never mind, this seriously sounds strange.
Cos I’m feeling totally deranged;

The radio croons loudly in the background,
Yet I hardly pay heed to the words.
The beats seem to sync in with my pulse,
And some times they seem to go off beat.
Trust me I’m just scribbling this in a daze.

It’s this restless feeling in the mind,
When you think that the world looks perfect
But still something doesn’t seem alright.
You want to go to someplace else,
But you still don’t even want to move an inch.

Ah! Walk this way, we’re somewhere there,
I guess I can figure this out. Now, let me tell you.
This is that lost feeling which I was wondering about.
I don’t experience this more often,
That’s the reason I tend to forget.

Once in a while I feel there’s nothing to worry about,
And I am sinking deep in my comfort zone.
There’s nothing much to keep me on my toes.
It’s this regretful feeling of having no regrets.
Now I’m not surprised if you say, at times, you too, feel the same.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008


Sitting on the roof top he stared and stared at the skies
Wearing a pale face with eager eyes:

Like always it looked like he was sculpting the sky,
With his imagination he chiseled the clouds skillfully.

But that wasn’t what he was up to this time,
Though that had been his favourite pastime.

Clouds, birds, kites and dragonflies,
Nothing amused him and his wait continued patiently.

Now his neck was aching so he just looked down,
Saw his dad taking the routine walk, up and down the porch.

In a moment he was down, standing right next to dad,
Looking down at him, “What’s wrong?” Dad squatted and asked.

Puttu said “It’s been sometime dad, since I looked up and smiled.
Since a few days there’s not a single aero plane in sight”.

Dad said “That’s the reason I say read the newspaper everyday.
Cultivate this good habit in your younger days”

“They’ve all moved to distant skies after they built the new airport.
I doubt you’ll see them more often like you used to before.”

A big frown surfaced on Puttu’s face
And tears welled in his innocent eyes.

Dad looked surprised and questioned
“But why should that keep you from smiling?”

“I’ll tell you a little secret if you promise to keep it to yourself.”
Saying this Puttu stretched his open palm towards father.

Dad clasped his hand and said “Ok son. Go ahead”
And lifted him up and put him on his shoulders.

Pointing at the sky the lil lad began to explain,
Dad listened patiently as he carried Puttu to the terrace.

”Whenever I see a plane Dad, I look up to it and smile,
No matter how I am feeling it makes me feel good from inside.”

“It instills in me a deep sense of hope
That one day, over the clouds real high, I will also soar”.

Dad didn’t know what to say, he looked up to his son this time.
And promised him a trip to the new airport over the weekend.

Thursday, June 12, 2008


Beneath the scorching sun she stood persistently,
Pearly sweat dripping down her forehead,
It died as it disappeared into the soil sporadically.

Wearing a red top with polka dots and white shorts;
She stood on the lawn folding her hands,
After she had a small quarrel with mom.

People passing by looked at her in wonder;
Nobody had a clue what she was up to;
A few questioned but no one got an answer.

Her friends interrupted but she didn’t really care,
Some pushed her around yet she wasn’t scared.
She stared into the sun, with her hands stroking her hair.

The face-off between the lil angel and the sun,
Went on till evening, starting from mid noon.
She’d even skipped lunch, still she didn’t complain.

Just then came her neighbour Carey, her little best friend.
Looking at her, he giggled and said
”Don’t do that Gwen, you’ll turn dark. Just the way I am”.

Hearing this Gwen glowed with happiness and ran to him.
” How I wish it happens Carey. That’s why I’m standing here all set to tan.
At least then, mom won’t mind your company cos we both will look the same.”

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

What’s in a name?

Does it surprise you? As to how we have to live
With a few choices we haven’t really made.
We’ll have to bear it, all through our life.
For instance, I’d say, our very own name.

Some were passed down through ancestors,
With a Roman numerical accompanying them.
Or, suffixed with a Jr.,
As folks didn’t want to opt for another name.

A few were given a thought for days together.
While some were named in that spur of a moment.
Seldom did one get to choose their name.
Yet they always had an option to change.

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
by any other name would smell as sweet." wrote Shakespeare.
Little did he know that someday, indispensable, he’d become.
And the world would look up to him and swear by his name.

It’s really strange how, not many realize,
Behind every name there’s a reason, there’s a purpose.
One day you’ll know it, until then you got to wait,
That’s when you’ll know your mission, and the destiny that awaits.

“Names, once they are in common use,
Quickly become mere sounds, their etymology being buried,
like so many of the earth's marvels,
beneath the dust of habit” - Salman Rushdie

Thursday, June 05, 2008

Ammamma, Puttu and the Summer Rain

Puttu and grandma sat together,
In the backyard discussing the current affairs.
Not of the nations or the dirty politics in it,
Nothing to do with nuclear warfare or even world peace.

He told her to make cookies,
which she made for last Christmas.
And his favourite combo: chutney and crispy dosas
For the next day’s breakfast.

She told him stories from her childhood,
How they used to climb trees and make sand castles.
Biting into fruits straight from the trees,
And tasting wild honey that dripped from the bee hives;

Getting wet in the rain and going down the big stone slide,
Kicking clouds as they swayed to and fro on the swing.
Shooting down mangoes, guavas and tamarind with a catapult;
Picking sweet-scented flowers from creepers and shrubs.

How they played Hide and seek from sunup to sundown,
And how they ran for cover while playing Seven tiles.
Football and Kabaddi was a big no no for her.
Only watched her brothers and neighbours play and kept score.

Puttu’s face glowed with amazement;
Sitting beside grandma on the doorstep.
He gawked with wide open eyes, at times, in disbelief.
Chuckled and cheered as she almost enacted every episode.

As they spoke he heard the delicate thunder,
’Ammamma’ he said, ‘let’s make boats in paper’.
She concurred and got some old newspaper;
Folding them one by one they prepared the fleet to set sail.

Splitter, splatter the rain drops crashed one after another.
It began to drizzle and Puttu ran into the rain.
She yelled “Don’t do that Puttu you’ll catch cold and fever”
Granny rushed back in and got the umbrella, in time.

Unfurling the umbrella she rushed to catch the lil devil,
He was caught in not time, she dragged him into shelter.
He pleaded with a fake frown and down came the crocodile tears,
”Amma please, just once. After all it’s summer”.

Her heart melted and she just couldn’t say no.
Closed her eyes, smiled and gave a nod.
He pulled her along too and she gave him company.
Holding each other’s hands they looked up merrily.

Puttu said “Aah, the rain tastes so nice, isn’t it?”
Granny smirked and whispered in his ears in disagreement
”Not really, let’s move to the shade and watch the paper boats sail”.
And Puttu asked “Why Ammamma?
Don’t they make the rain like they used to before?”

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Sentinels' Message

I see that old army of mountains,
Standing guard at the horizon,
Some grown older and taller over the years;
With white heads they stand up looking down at the earth,
Making conversations with the gypsy clouds that wander.

Some clouds rest over their shoulders,
Giving them messages sent by their long lost brothers,
Who dwell in the other distant lands.
Taking down greetings and replies in return,
They roll them up into scrolls of thunderbolts as the peaks’ whisper.

Reading out news from lands far away,
About the distant landscapes
They hovered around while coming this way;
And telling tales that prevail there
Of nations and their battles that looked trivial from up there.

The powerful winds rushed against them
But seldom did they budge or tremble.
Without faltering or even moving a single inch,
Upright they stood, staring straight
Into the swirling ice storm’s eye.

The wind whistled mischievously and at times howled.
Going around them in circles on and on.
Teasing them slyly and striking them cruelly, they circled
With an impression they’ll turnaround and retreat.
But little did they know those sentinels won’t even retort.

For they stood unyielding with their feet set on the ground.
Yet they reached high and the limit was the sky.
Perhaps, they had a silent message to convey,
When you stand firm in faith,
You’ll scale heights and there’s no reason you’d fail.

Friday, May 30, 2008

Hold fast

Standing amidst graves at a funeral,
Only a few shades were predominantly visible;
Green, grey, dark granite and white marble.
That apart, the faded faces of people;

Everyone flaunted a somber expression,
Which came by default for such an occasion.
Kids excited ran over tombstones and around crucifixes.
Little did they worry or care about the dead and departed;

All was calm as they lowered the coffin,
A handful of soil everybody parted as a send off token.
Teardrops and grieving hearts accompanied the last hymn.
And with a word of prayer they finally bid farewell,

That very moment surfaced a ‘Why?’ And the thunder roared,
Yet on my ears the question echoed louder and the rumble was a whisper.
The rain rushed down and invaded the moment;
I felt it gently embrace me from all over.

I looked up to the skies
But couldn’t really open my eyes.
Was it the rain or a way He displayed His love?
To say that He too wept for the sake of His beloved.

This was the word He sowed in my soul,
That “When calamity comes, the wicked are brought down,
but even in death the righteous have a refuge’.
So here I am to tell you "Never let go HOPE".

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Maybe, some other time

It’s been sometime since you came here.
You might have thought I’ll return in a while and just forget.
Finally, you’ve made it, all the way to this place, today
Just to see what this Scribbler’s got to say.

Perhaps, you can come back some other time
And read this scribble in leisure again.
You do have other priorities in life.
So return whenever you want to indulge, I’ll wait.

It can be tomorrow or even the day after,
You still have loads of time on hand to lavishly spend.
‘There’s always another time’ is the usual excuse.
Hopefully, I’ll pray, by then the world doesn’t come to an end.

Or let me suggest something,
Ten more minutes, try not to do anything.
Play lazy once again but the moment seems never ending,
After that you might resume your reading.

Isn’t that the way you feel most of the time,
Putting things off more often thinking later on it can be done.
“One day I’ll visit my favourite holiday destination.
Someday I’ll walk in the early morning rain”.

”Sleep under a star lit roof.
And quench my thirst in the new dawn’s dew.
In a while, I’ll write to my loved one something special,
Or one fine day I’ll pen my own book and claim my share of fame”.

So many things to do but so little time,
Wish we had more than hours 24 is what we always complain.
Well, if that’s the case with you that’s not something new,
I know no cure either cos I suffer from the same illness too.

Some call it lethargy; some say the devil rules the idle mind.
A few say it’s the laid back attitude.
But I say it’s nothing too serious nor is it incurable,
We just suffer from the ‘some other time syndrome’.

Thursday, May 22, 2008


I listen to love songs no more,
Is it a result of my broken heart?
I try hard but can’t come up with scribbles on love;
Perhaps, I should just quit and move on.

She used to welcome the dawn in my company,
With her hands all over me, we spent time in harmony;
Words used to flow like perennial rivers before,
Her every touch used to teach me a new word.

It’s been really long since she even sat by me,
Over the table we used to lock gazes for hours.
Sipping coffee from a big porcelain mug,
She smiled, frowned, mused and cried.

We saw the world in each other’s eyes,
Toured across borders and uncharted terrains;
At times; we even traversed beyond
And embarked on a journey to outer space.

What happened to her suddenly I really know not,
Her single touch can spark things up and it’ll all restart.
Together, refreshing memories we’ll spend the nights.
With gazes locked we’ll suspend the world on pause.

She cherished her memories in my heart,
Retrieved and spent wee hours of the dark;
Browsing every moment one by one
And flipping them page by page.

Today, she enjoys another’s company.
Sleek, dark, smart and excels in all.
Wherever she goes, he's by her side.
She ditched this PC for a Laptop.

Monday, May 19, 2008


Show me your eyes
For I have a message to recite in my frail voice.
Forget the story of your past
That brought you here, this far, tonight.

Wipe those tears clean
Don’t let them come in between.
They’ll only blur your vision,
And make you lose your aim.

Look at you; you look estranged and lost,
Lost in yourself and entangled in fate’s knots,
In your own world
You look like a stranger from afar.

Hold your head high, let the clouds touch,
Don’t let it droop or succumb to this earth’s laws.
Lift your head up and plant it on your shoulders.
Let the storm face its demise, stand firm as a rock.

You're not an untaught,
That you can't read the volumes hidden in people’s eyes.
It's just that you need to practice to excel and master the art.
To read the hidden epics between those wretched lines;

Show me your eyes
For I have a message to recite in my frail voice.
The future that’s yet to be written in the pages of our life;
Btw, I’m your inner voice. Now, let me not spoil the surprise.

Friday, May 16, 2008

The Spyglass

Just a few steps behind her, he stealthily followed,
Without even giving her a clue, he played her shadow.
Every step she took or any move she made,
He was with her every moment, every hour.

Visits to the neighbourhood Church or the nearest mall,
Be it the family doctor or the tennis club.
The A to Z super market or the designer store,
He just knew it all, almost all her whereabouts.

Every night they were on either sides of the spyglass,
He wasn’t really too far from sight, just on the opposite block.
But on her, was glued, his one hawk’s eye.
And the other spied relentlessly on the world by her side.

This happened for a few weeks and he knew she was clean,
Told her husband that she couldn’t be accused of infidelity.
Believing the spy, the Billionaire husband, would seldom do,
Doubted him instead and asked if she’d bribed him to say so too.

Shaking his head in shame he wore a grim face,
Looking down upon the crippled husband on the wheel chair;
He pitied for his fate and his beautiful dame.
And wondered how she could be so true to this docile demon.

Crippled wasn’t just his physic but also his thoughts in head.
He was crippled by assumptions and inferiority all the way.
Throwing his pay cheque into the dust bin, the spy, walked away,
He just didn’t want to be a part of this noxious game.

Next week, just a few steps behind, he followed,
Now he was on a new client’s mission;
Before he knew his target took a turn into an old bookstore;
Picking up that day’s newspaper he followed her as she moved forth.

Accidentally, he read the headlines and guilt stricken he just stood;
It read that the crippled Billionaire’s wife was no more,
Her body was found, the previous night, lifeless on the seashore.
He just turned around and reached for the spyglass in his pocket,
Threw it into the nearby thrash can and ruefully walked away.

Monday, May 12, 2008


With a violin she sat playing a tune,
By the window looking down the street;
Those strings wept in accord, and voiced her frown.
Not a single tear rolled as her eyes were sealed.

Drowned deep in despair, the reason only she knew,
The empty street just echoed with no accompaniment to her tune.
A tune so mesmerizing, it could have put the world to sleep,
Even the pesky neighbour or foe didn’t bother to disrupt.

The night was as dark as kohl,
Not a single star was out there to accompany her in grief.
In slumber and dreams the rest of the world was lost,
Here she was making melody to find some peace.

A click startled her and she stopped playing,
The door of her room opened and he slowly stepped in.
Looking at him she dropped the bow and violin,
Rushed towards him and into his arms she gave in.

He swept her off her feet and took her to bed,
She cried bitterly with her head on his shoulder.
He made her lie down and wiped her tears.
Dimmed the lamp by the bed and kissed her eyes to sleep.

Seeing her fast asleep he tiptoed to the exit,
Leaving her alone on the bed he slept crashed on the nearby couch.
Gently, she opened her eyes and followed him after a few minutes,
Saw him sleeping peacefully she reclined on a chair by his side.

He looked real tired after working all day real hard,
Now they were gradually turning strangers to the concept called love.
He was a part of the rat race and this had torn them apart.
He had found a new partner and profession played that part.

She got back to her room pulled the door behind,
Sat by the window with remorse and regret,
Picked up her violin and bow, and resumed to play real soft.
She too had found a new companion and her passion is what she sought.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008


With a brand new pencil and sharpener in hand
I stare at a blank sheet of paper as I begin to mend.
The dark as night lead pierces its head out of the wood.
Leaving curled up shavings behind as it leaps through.

What do I converge into words?
Today, my thoughts are so very few.
My mind’s as clean as a virgin canvas,
Not even a dot to kick-start a scribble new.

Doodling around and scribbling like always.
The piece of lead slowly begins to move.
Starting of with some straight and oblique lines;
Followed by circles and curves, yet it feels no good.

The rear end of the pencil now gets into action,
Erasing some creations of its poles-apart foe;
Rubbing its head remorsefully with regret,
It silently cleans up the mess the opponent had made.

Once again the creator resumes
Not surprised that the remains are so few.
Even if it were to start from scratch,
The excitement never ends nor does it turn passive.

So here I go again trying to confide,
Almost everything that’s left to corrode in my brain.
This is the therapy for Scribbler’s block I guess;
Now it’s time to use the pencil’s rear end, once again.

Saturday, May 03, 2008

In Pursuit of Destiny

Let me unwind and set out on my journey,
And tread on paths uncharted and go that extra mile.
But before that I’ll break the spine
Of this demon called routine.
Feed my wanderlust and please its appetite

Even if monotony puts its hands together
And kneels down pleading for mercy
I shall show none for death is what it shall see.
Adventure is what I eagerly seek,
That’s away from cubicles, deadlines and meetings;

Listening to the telegraphic conversations of crickets,
Deriving sense out of the brook’s babble,
Sleeping amidst walls studded with fireflies,
Under a roof with stars clinging onto the sky’s tiles,
I’ll wake up in the morn pushing aside the blanket of pallid mist.

The maps will be burnt down to ashes
And the compass would be thrown into deep abyss.
While the feet will be the shadow
My heart would lead its way.
Following it just about everywhere along the serene landscapes;

Like the river I’ll flow and wandering I’ll go,
Just the way it knows not which path to roll.
But all it knows is it has an ocean to meet.
With eyes set on the horizon afar it flows,
It never turns around or even rests for seconds few.

Similarly, I see the crimson horizon,
Where the sky kisses the wide open green;
I hope that my destiny's somewhere out there,
And whatever happens I just won't retreat.
I'll keep on rolling even if I've to stumble and limp in pain;

My hope won’t die neither will it retire,
I won’t ever give up; I’m in pursuit of my destiny.
Cos I believe out there awaits His promise land,
For which I’ll have to struggle a lil but in it lies eternal glory.
And over there I’ll find a soul who'll accompany me till eternity.