Thursday, November 26, 2015

Offending an Opinion

From now on, I shall fear talking about the weather on an inclement day. For I might invariably offend your weather god.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Short story - The Faith

The grill creaked as Bhanu pushed it close. The elevator was old, in an old building ; the person traveling up with him, Jayanthi, older. She was the wife of Balakrishna Aithal, owner of three apartments in the building that they were currently scaling.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

The Fallen

A failed love marriage is celebrated. Nay, a failed love is celebrated. By those who cleverly refrained ; the seemingly wiser ones who chose an arranged match or the ones who believed they were matchless. Along with  the ones who kept flitting too often to have known it but, frivolously and fleetingly. 

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Reflex reflextions : Karma Chameleon

What I was, I no longer am.
What I am, I doubt I will continue to be.
In the end what remains, I fear,
shall barely have traces of me.

Will I be any less a murderer then, 
merely 'cos I have taken a lifetime to kill me?

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Redemption

Lately when he held her,
his skin, calloused by the frost,
kindled a fire anew.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Excel in everything

If there's one thing that a woman would really like to manipulate, it would be time. Her reason for desiring to outwit time goes beyond the adage of belying her age. And no, she's no Cinderella too!

For some time now, I am conscious of a multifarious woman. As a child, I have distinctly seen traces of her in my mother too. A woman who wants to be taken seriously at her workplace. She has acquired the degrees, honed her skills, is confident too. She's entered her chosen domain. And she applies herself to her work. Having been fortunate to have had access to good education, she now wants to prove her mettle in her field. She is not short on ideas, least on effort. You would think there's no stopping her now!

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Looking back

I say, I am back.

Some time last week, I happened to took a long look (read) at my blog. And what I went through was a feeling distinctly similar to what I first felt long ago when I was in 8th grade -as I chanced upon an artwork made in primary school. Puerile though I thought it looked at first glance, I took a liking to parts of it, on some reflection. In a flash, a cocktail of emotions splashed at me - a dash of heady pride of 'Did I make this?', with a touch of some colorless chagrin of 'Did I make this!'

Saturday, June 27, 2009

The elusive genius

I had envisaged an architect. An absolute crackerjack, who could whip willful empty spaces into submission. Someone who could just twirl his fingers and ...ta-dah create masterpieces in a flash. Someone who could cajole the elements to penetrate into the internal environment. The one who could suck at the marrow of life (a la Thoreau) and blow it into the air within the buildings he creates. A real genius, no less!

It was under such an architect that I wanted to spend my initial years training under and gradually turn into a genius myself. That was my grand plan. And so a few years ago as I stepped into the work-world, I felt the enthusiasm one feels when one knows something big is going to happen.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Who's who at work?

The corporate world sometimes seems no less than a microcosmic jungle - where the domineering lion, the scavenging hyena, the sly fox, the ruminating cow and the meek rabbit somehow together survive the day. From the dystopian imagery of Animal farm, Orwellian characters - Napoleon, Squealer, Boxer, Mollie and Benjamin seem to have invaded the workplace too.
Here are a few of my favorite caricatures from the office-dom:

1) The Bootlicker : He is the lackey except that he's in white collar. Whenever the big boss is around, trust him to put on a mildly grave, no-nonsense expression, with hands folded behind, which somehow miraculously brandish out whatever the boss suddenly requires. While the un-servile - types hang around with an air of "you should carry your own papers, pen, diary, calculator, reports, sketch-sheets, Mr. Boss" the bootlicker hangs around pushing the chair for the boss to park his bottom. Don't be surprised if he's also well stocked up on toilet paper.

2) The Bully : This one is almost like the beastly brat you would have encountered in school ; who made a grab at your homework book with one hand and at your tiffin-box with the other. Except that he's bigger and meaner now. And his methods a lot subtler. He looks out for unsuspecting and meek victims and carries his own outsourcing business within the company. Expert at delegating and bull-dozing his way out, his prowess shines through and soon he is promoted as manager and err... he starts managing. This alas is just the beginning.


3) The Uncle : This kind has a lot of curves around him, starting from the round balding pate to the even more curvaceous paunch. And before we forget, of course the shapely blackberry which is practically inseparable from him. Mostly survives on coffee, smoke and beeps and err...a few naps here and there.




Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Animal jaunts

I don't remember having ever come back from a vacation without sitting atop the local four-legged featured rides. Though I am wary of these rides and with good reason. I am certain that I have often seen some of these animals in deep thought. Whenever I ponder it’s usually over sublime, surreal issues of life and its wavering trajectories, in the midst of which, I couldn't be bothered with the incessant earthly demands of creatures around me. If at such times I am bothered with "I am hungry/ I can't find my socks, keys, sweatshirt, etc etc", from the husband, I waste no time in reminding him of my higher purpose and put him in his rightful place. Now if the animal-jalopy has similar tendencies, wouldn't it just shake off whatever is up its back and set off in pursuit of its true calling?

Monday, June 1, 2009

The rumble in the sky

As a child, I thought of the rain as water dropped by God to clean the roads, the buildings and the air. HE provided us with water and also reveled in merrymaking while pouring it from the sky on us. And then came science lessons. I would like to think they tried to rob me of my fancies, of even independent thought. Ergo rain was accepted as condensation. As a part of a cycle of seasons.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Reflex reflextions : Shifting fears

She hears the slow build up of pressure, it is mounting. Her hands are busy on the chopping board, while she keeps an eye on the milk boiling. Her face twists into an ugly scowl, in anticipation of the horrible screech that would emanate from the pressure cooker on the gas. The quiet morning resounds with the whistles, while she winces. She waits for 3 of them. Then switches off the gas quickly, smiles and returns to the chopping, with an eye still on the milk. As a child, she was terrified and would run away from the sound.

She feels good about overcoming her dread.She can now endure standing next to the pressure cooker while it cooks. And then in a flash she knows why.

She has a bigger fear now - of not being able to catch the 8:15 Churchgate (fast).

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Reflex reflextions : 1 (Death of a roach)

From the corner of my eye, I saw something move under the side table and before I could turn fully I saw a cockroach scuttling past. Then it stopped wary, its antennae fluttering. I jumped up from the chair, ran to the cupboard to get the can of HIT. When I returned, it had moved close to the sofa. I aimed the nozzle directly at it, and sprayed full blast.
It trembled for a few seconds and as I watched from a distance, I wondered if it thought, "Why me?"

Monday, May 4, 2009

Working next door to Alice

There was a certain girl amongst my colleagues, who loved talking. And unfortunately for her listeners, her limited repertoire consisted of accounts of her real life (mis)adventures or surreptitiously-sprung spoilers to recently released movies. And even more unfortunate was her timing. She always waylaid me in office whenever I had that impending deadline or worse still, in the comatose hours of the early afternoon when you have just had lunch and loaning your ears to recycled boring chatter would only induce you completely into a yawn-like state. Fortunately for her, I wasn't equipped with the fist of death.

Friday, April 10, 2009

The dark night

I saw you sprawled next to me, inches apart
When the pitch darkness yielded to the light
That streamed in through the window behind me
Comforted by your silhouette, I felt at ease

Listening to the rain outside splash and scatter
The water falling on the windowpane made a patter
We lay down unmoving, silent, unperturbed, still
You looked like a dark painting that might have a will

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Of things that are not routine

I have been busy. The last couple of weeks and more have been about an unplanned, on-the-spur-of-the-moment trip; nature trails; huffing-puffing up the great Thadiyendamol; waterfalls; coffee plantations with the scent of the blossoms; the wilderness; gazing open-mouthed at the starlit sky; reading in the daylight; elephant dung and prayers; sudden showers; listening to the sounds of insects at night; fear of sunburn, leeches and wild elephants (in that order); gurgling of the hidden brooks; posing for pictures in front of derelict structures and the thick rainforest; breathing the clean mountain air; surviving on packed sandwiches and chocolates; the feeling of having miles of countryside to oneself; walking uphill and downhill on twisting and turning paths; and just idyllic gazing. All this contrastingly ending with guests visiting home, late-nights, jokes and banter, movies, pub-hopping, dining out, scrabble, skipping yoga, bingeing, chit-chats over coffee, mall-rambling, cooking big meals. It's been a period of excesses - of tranquility and revelry, of the wild yet placid and mostly monochromatic outdoors versus the seemingly tame yet blaring and pyschedelic indoors.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

OM, Oscar and H2O



For some time now, I start the day with a good stretch of the body and a long recital of the magical, resounding AAAAUUUUMMMMMMMM (OM ॐ ). Truly magic. The way it cuts into the crisp morning air. The way it breaks the silence, envelops it for some time, and then leaves silence behind. At 5:30am, a lot of cacophony of mind is still curled under the blankets, the briskness of survival hasn't still reared its ugly head, and the mundanity of it all is fast asleep with its mouth wide open. And it's beautiful to hear and chant Om; to realise and breathe the silence before and after it. There is a temple next door, right next to the terrace where we practice yoga every morning. And it's divine to hear the temple bells ringing after the silence. Our Om has reached God.


Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Googling for a baby boy



"which mantra should a pregnant lady enchant (sic) to have a baby boy"

I found that I got a hit on my blog with this search query. All the way from Chicago. For some time I couldn't believe what I saw. I sat livid with rage. I know some people are f****** up, but they expect God to be f****** up too?

Some times I don't want to belong to this world. This is one such time.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

The tree outside



In front of her window stands a big tree,
Its branches reach out to caress her free(ly)
She has often thought of building a bridge,
and a little deck just below its ridge
Then every night she would walk up there,
Lie down under the starry throughfare
She would wait for him, would he come?
Would he climb the tree or it ain't decorum?



But lo winter's come, turned the tree bare,
Dashed her hopes with scarcely a care
She looks on wistfully for her failed amour,
The magnificent tree that was meant to pander
With no foliage as cover,
How can she meet her lover?
All that remains are boughs, the rest stark naked,
Oh! how she wishes so long she hadn't waited!

PS : This (hopefully) will be my last tryst with verses for a long, long time.

Friday, February 13, 2009

A little while with dad

In the summer of '86, a few months short of being five,
I played, a little boy, in the garden verdant and alive.
The grass shone, the caterpillars hid from the daylight,
Then I saw him come, holding onto a bunch of orchids white.

He seemed uncertain, he had kind eyes though.
In he walked through the pathway upto the door,
Which mamma opened upon hearing the bell chime,
Their eyes when they met, seemed to go back in time.