Monthly Archives: September 2012

The best vadas in the world

You get the best vadas
in the world  on
outskirts of Bengaluru.

Piping hot.
Crispy.
Melt in your mouth Vadas.

This is how you get there.

Go to a pub in Mumbai
on a Friday evening.
Skip dinner.
Drink till two.
Get a call from Bengaluru
at two thirty.
Wonder what the fuck
you are doing in Mumbai.
Reach the airport by four.
Reach Bangalore by six.
Reach her place by seven.

As she opens the door, wide-eyed with surprise and
pleasure, kiss her.

Kissing, throw a few things
into her overnight bag.

Kissing, get out of the door.

Kissing stumble into the elevator.

Kissing, tumble in to back seat
of the waiting car to
bark ‘ drive’ at the startled,
paavam driver.

When you come up
for air next ask your
driver to stop at any
breakfast place.

Order Vadas.
Bite into to one.

Delish, no?
Didn’t  I tell you?

Taste is a function
of how hungry you are,
really.

Eat, eat machan!
Put it off!

It’s a longggg weak-end.
And you need the carbs.

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The Long Road

All great journeys
are finally within
ourselves.

There is a time to
wait on the shore
and there is a time
to burn the bridge.

There is a time to stay
and there is a time to go
on a limb,
on a hunch,
on a gut feel.

To explore the
continent called you.

To plumb  the depths
of your belief.
To scale  the peaks of
your faith.
To roam the horizons
your resolve.

To find out what earth you
are made of.

To find out how big
your skies are.

To find out how bright
your sun burns.

The road waits for you.
It waits for me.

Let’s not  tarry.


Strange

I remember
having difficulty
breathing
when I first saw you
in the mountains.

The oxygen levels
in the air had nothing to do
with it.

Strange.

Because I had met
you before and
wasn’t swept off
my feet.

But in those cold,
dizzying heights
I remember being
seized by a fierce
desire to just lift you
in my arms and cover
you with kisses.

Strange.

Not because you
were the fairest,
or the tallest or the
prettiest girl I had ever met.

But because you
felt like a void
that will take a life time
of loving to fill.

And my heart put
its hand for the
job without any
prompting.

And also because
you have
the kindest eyes I
have seen.

And when you
cry, which was often
because its
so easy to
make you cry,
you looked like, Rudolf,
the red nosed rain deer.

And I wanted to bite your
nose and then
the rest of you.

Right then and there
and not wait for
Christmas.

Strange.

And when I burnt
my palm accidentally
while warming on the
stove, I had hoped the new
lines  that will somehow
mean we are
fated.

But I never asked.
You never asked.
And we never happened.
Strange.

And even today
if there is one person
on this earth whose
presence will make me
forget to breathe
it’s probably you.

Strange.


The perfect lazy afternoon

This  how you spend
a perfect lazy afternoon.

Lie on your stomach
and watch an ant crawl
across the length
of the room.

The entire length.

Just concentrate on
the lone, tiny form
scuttling across
immense wastelands
of tiled flooring,
spurred on by ancient
instincts, antennae waving
like some primordial
Mars rover.

No checking messages.
No checking mail.
No hopes.
No regrets.
No worries.

No nothing.

No part of you
mobile except your
eyes tracking
the great expedition.

Like a lizard lost
in the gaze.

Done?

Now you can have
have a cup of
steaming hot tea.

See, it’s not that
difficult.


Rapchik

Once upon a time
in Mumbai
there used to be
an onomatopoeic word
called ‘Rapchik’.

Like ‘Crash’, ‘Boom’, ‘Bang’.

Meaning ‘Uber Desirable.’

Before MTV made
‘Hot’ and ‘Sexy’
commonplace.
Rapchik.
The glottal slip slide of the
tongue in a salivating
male mouth.

Rapchik.
An involuntary expression,
sparked by desire,
coloured by lust,
smelling of dingy beer bars
and spent catridges
of a Mumbai where once
gangs fought pitched,
pointless battles.

Rapchik.
The un-attainable, unforgettable, unbelievable
woman who just walked
past a young man without
so much as  a backward
glance.

Rapchik.
A sigh escaping the
a young man,
running from cops
with a price on his head,
who’ll never see grey hair.

Rapchik.
A moment of pure
appreciation
In a city that doesn’t
give a fuck about
anyone.


How to deal with heartbreak

Lessons from a brave cat
who fell three stories and
survived to lick her paws,
to all those who have
just fallen out of love.

Always remember to
land on your feet.

Never whine or cry.

Lick what hurts.

Look regal.
Never lose your cat-ness.

Stay still.
The more you move
the less you heal.

Look good hurt.

Never beg for sympathy.

Be patient. Healing takes time.
Be elegant in patience.

Eat less.
Sleep as much as possible.

Never lose your playfulness.
Even when your
lungs are being drained of
of blood.

Eight lives are as kickass
as nine lives.

Remember to purr.


The importance of dreaming

He snuggled up to me
all warm and sleepy eyed
this morning.

“Good morning, papa!”
“Good morning, my love!”
I kissed his butter ball cheeks.

“Did you dream last night?”
” I don’t think I did.” I told him

” You should dream of beautiful things!”
I put the morning paper down.

” What beautiful things, my love?”
” Like Volcanoes full of milk and
mountains made of chocolates?”
” Did you?”
“Of course!”

Of course.

It’s been a such a
long time since I have
been five that
I have forgotten
how to dream
beautiful dreams.

Must try harder.

Thank you for the reminder,
sweetheart.