Thought bubbles

sometimes i think of those people, who touched my life briefly and vanished
when a current life incident triggers a buried memory
when a word, a song brings forth a face to my mind
when i am traveling and have nothing to read

i think of them
and wonder about where they are today
and why we fell out of touch.

i don't miss them
not like i would miss some others
but i would still like to say hello sometime.
just for old time's sake.

underneath the mango tree
there was a girl
waiting, waiting, waiting ...

All you people in Bangalore..

please tell me you all are safe...
Can't get through to most of you.

you bloody asswipes who planted those bombs ... may your liver be eaten away by red ants.

Have you ever

... confused a person for someone else and had a long conversation with him?
I did.
Today. Over the messenger.
Not my mistake actually. He shares his first name with another good friend. And his second name. But still.
Mighty silly.

letter in earnest

To,
The husband
Please come home. And take over midnight-baby feeding-changing routine.

Yours lovingly
Dog tired wife.

2 weeks have never seemed so ridiculously long. sigh*

how do i say i am sorry ...

... when i have never met the person who has passed away
... when i have never experienced a similar pain
... when i know the words are going to sound superficial
... when i cannot look her in the eye
... when i have a frozen tongue

how do i tell her ... that life will go on after her father's death?
i know it will, painful as the times would be ... but how does one go and offer condolence?
condolence ... such an ugly word. a poor representation of the anguish one feels for a friend going through a terrible phase.

i can only hope and pray for the soul
hers and the departed one's ... and mine
peace unto you.

a cat lives in my throat

and is trying her damndest to get out.

itchy scratchy cough-scarred throat.

bring on the sympathy and some hot water. and also strepsils. forgot those at home.

okbye.

I have noticed

that there are two kinds of people in my industry.
one who can write
the others who think they can.

Poetry from inside a cement pipe

I pinged prabha late last evening and asked her to take a dekho at my brand new blog header. I was super proud of it plus I needed to know if she was ok with being pictorially associated with my blog.

She was. Said she would have probably killed me if I hadn't put her snap.
Ok, its prabha we are talking about. She is so mild, she would probably just have gone all silent on me. And that would have killed anyway. So coming back to the long drawn point, she was quite ok with it. She ought to be. We share history. We wrote poems together. Whilst sitting inside an abandoned cement pipe. In the middle of a ground. Next to a gutter.

And she has got amazing memory. She actually remembered a couple of them. The following is the product of two kids with too much time at hand, a book and a pen.

I met a girl from fairyland,
She had in her hand a magical wand.
She looked at me with a friendly glance
And invited me for a little dance.

But I couldn’t dance as I was in a trance.
And so I missed my only chance to dance with a girl from fairyland.
And that is the dream I had had and so I am sad because I missed my only chance to dance with a girl from fairyland!!

Now if I can only find the book so I can treat you all to some more classic pieces of work.

My head needs to go for a walk

I know I ought to share, but it kills me to let anyone else bask in her smile.
But I know I am being bad, so I force myself to leave her with them.
And then hang around just beyond the door, watching, hoping... she'd miss me.

I know I ought to move on, but it hurts to know that my reputation is dog shit.
But I know I have a point to prove, and hang in there.
And pray everyday that they would give me a reason to say good-bye.

I know I need to confront her, but it scares me to think of not having her around anymore.
But I know I am being a coward, and I pick the phone up to call her.
And tell her about how it rained heavily today.

Mugs used to say that I carry a lot of baggage.
She must have been speaking the truth.
Suddenly the weight is overwhelming.
And I am not even talking about it in Kgs.

Let it up,
Let it go,
Heavy heart
Feather light.

sometimes

the sun shines
and it rains, hard

clouds converge
and the wind blows

happiness happens
and sadness seeps in

in and out
out and in

over and over again
cycle of life.