Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Architecture and motherhood

You feel like a design problem
I am working on, 
whose submission date 
is not yet fixed, 
by indecisive studio professors 
who want us students 
to work, just a tad bit more.

On nights before a pre-final,
like a tracing full of ideas
yet to be finalised, 
you have the power 
of lingering in my subconscious,
making me jump out 
of intermittent sleep
Each night, to engage with you.

No paper to draw on,
you draw from me what is yours now.

No name plate either;
for your loved ones 
use sounds and words
borrowed from seven languages
whose alphabets cannot be lettered.

I wipe your eye secretions, 
tears and milk stains after a feed,
and your face becomes
a completed cartridge sheet;
smudge free with a few guide lines.

Your few hair strands I comb 
so they settle paralelly
like meticulous 
brick and stone hatches 
drafted within walls.

Every once in a while 
I stick my ear to the floor 
to watch an exactly angled ray 
of sunlight works its magic 
on a sleeping you.

A roughly 1:3 scaled model 
of who you may be 
in 20 years, 
stares back at me;
your myriad expressions 
changing by the millisecond.

Surprised, I have 
an obscenely satisfying thought 
that crosses my mind;

did I just happen to create you?

**Sleeplessness invokes poetry. Written for Chundo :)

Friday, May 27, 2016

Let's not talk

I don't want to sound complicated
I don't want to string words
that compound
each others' meanings
in a sentence so long
we forget
what was wished to be said.

but I want to talk
reach out and tell you
of the thrills fears feelings
that exist in me and
in the world I experience,
but no words, please.

I want to learn
and share what I learn
so I facilitate that explosion in you
relive that explosion within me
when knowledge
baffles, amazes
belittles and supports.

But let's do this without words

can we sit side by side,
watch feel talk
without words?

**Inspired out of a discussion on how differently we process and share information with people, sweeping statements v/s specific facts, working knowledge v/s theory, etc. :)

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Passing the baton

bathed in sweat, showering smiles
a brimful of achievement at eight
213 persistent jumps, offered
to a granite-cladded RCC floor

a delayed relay , my fan-studded
second floor ceiling resonates
similarly, but at seven fifteen
my heartbeats mimic now

after pongal, and a quick slurp
through filter coffee at Adiga's 
I dash up the staircase at eight forty five
to hear skipping on the first floor

third to second, second to first
a lifeless matrix of beams and columns
passes on the baton between players,
neighbors and strangers
a connection is made

Friday, October 4, 2013


juice sinks in
through resilient jute,
pulp stains
a now undulated wallet.

refrigerated red,
sported on the wall,
mashed medals
collected painstakingly,
to be discarded.

eyelids open cautiously,
reveal a split second catch,
escaped from the jaws
of a crushing monster,
a flying tomato seed.

*** This happened after I tried grinding steaming hot tomato pulp in a mixer!

Sunday, March 31, 2013


Lamp posts become
sleeping lines;
blot yellow,
as I lose touch
with the night.
They choose
when to light my knee,
my eyes try to keep count.

Smiling behind hair strands,
I let a part of me rest
on Amma's bony thigh;
nothing need be thought now,
as questions inside
stop searching for answers.

I let it be, I let it go.

like before I was born;
before we grew apart,
too proud to show
the other one matters.

In a moment
disguised with the discomfort
of a splitting head
and a churning stomach
I learn to love
a difficult and irreplaceable you.

*** This was written on the taxi journey I shared with Amma, after I pulled her out of a play she really wanted to watch.

Sunday, April 22, 2012


She says  :  I can smell the fear
of your incompetence
I harness you,
to make real
my “creativity”
Your sweat
nourishes my creation
As I milk your labour
to polish my David.

Your gnawing stomach,
I feed with ideas
Pickle your brains,
numb your senses
Doped in my fantasy,
it’s difficult now
To reel back
to the real world

On entering you begged
Of me to satiate
Your sweet tooth
Let me now
Stuff you slice by slice
Choke you with my cake

My godly wrath has you
in a make-believe stupor
You’d perish, if not,
for the meagre alms I distribute

I have trained you
In what’s crap
and what’s cool
Made you a lesser human
Raped your right to expression

But how can you walk out, darling?
How can you? Where will you go?

     I say   :   Each evening, I want to see 
                   the light of the evening sun,
Smell the mud in the air when it rains untimely
I’d like to have a few hours of my life to myself, thanks,
I don’t want you to suck out my nectar, Queen Bee!

I respect my insanity
More than your profanity

*** This, to every control freak of a salary payer!

Thursday, May 27, 2010

multiplying magnitudes of madness

of mundaneness
of meek retorts
of migranous existences
of miniature seizures of lives
of mindfuckingness
of mind numbness
of money throttledness
of moving spaces
of missing places
of masters and arrogance
of must itches
of must haves
of minorities
of mixed feelings
of maximum explosions
of mirages
of mocks of self
of moths in the brain
of meaningless ponderings
of moans in the pillow
of mines dug deep in
of migrations
of mafisto’s glistening teeth
of magis in the manger
of magical blunders
of mangles thoughts
of mystic knots
of musical dots
of missed calls
of mutations of genes
of mirror images of the parent
of moony nightfalls
of mobile downfalls
of mobius and his strip
of mouses and chases
of meenaxi and shoe laces
of meanness supposed
of midnight scribblings
of microphones amplifying heartbeats
of mouth stretchings, silent
of merpeople and mermaids
of mentalities and sensibilities
of meccas and disappointments
of myriad adventures
of my amorous self.

*** crazy internship days, as I tried immersing myself into an alien system.