Monthly Archives: April 2015

The Ordeal 

Today my son’s 
summer vacation

Over the next seven days 
his mind will be wiped 
clean of long divisions
and tables and collective 
Those useless skills 
will be quickly replaced by 
useful new ones. 
Like climbing a tree,
aiming with a catapult, 
holding breath underwater
for a full minute, hiding in a
dusty barrel without sneezing,
eating a mango without 
peeling, learning to whistle,
and not cry when wrestling 
his older cousins. 
After two months of 
baking in the sun
he will return sunburnt 
and wild eyed from
the forests of fun.
And join other 
young savages 
in an unfamiliar 
And his teachers 
will sigh and start 
the lessons. 
The long, hard walk 
back to civilisation. 


The Never Song

Wouldn’t it have been
so much better if
we had never met,
never spoke,
never kissed,
never understood,
never shared,
never beaten as 
one heart,
never loved,
never lost?

Struggle phase

It’s the right of passage.

It’s what every 
newcomer to Mumbai 
has to go through.
It comprises of occasional 
starvation, continual poverty,
frequent masturbation in 
absence of any kind of
You are young 
and hopelessly broke.
But the beer tastes like nectar 
and the omelet bread from the dirty road side stall tastes like heaven.
Everything is still possible.
You are dumb enough to
believe you can achieve 
Because you have nothing.
Then you get smart.
And success comes to you wagging it’s tail.
Power becomes your bitch.
And you have more 
credit cards than friends.
And the beer tastes like shit.
And you have no taste
for anything. 
Just a bitterness in your mouth.
You have arrived.
Another broken shiny dream.
In the city of dreams. 

Uh oh

am not a page you turn and forget.

It takes a lifetime 
of hard work 
to be as interesting
as me.
You have to make
all the right mistakes, 
love all the wrong women,
never take the easy way out,
be friends only with 
the insane
to be me.
You can run 
till I am out of your sight,
but you can never take me
out of your mind. 
You should have thought
of that.
Too late now.
Have a nice life. 


It’s all my fault.

Believing in you 
was my mistake.
Thinking you were 
nice was my bad. 
I thought you are all heart.
You are just a massive asshole.
My fault entirely.
I was blind.
Please forgive me 
for loving you.
Can you? 
Because I can’t 
forgive myself.  

Just desserts

Were there other women?
Of course, there were.
Many and gorgeous.
Did they love me?
Wanted me for themselves?
Of course, they did.
But I wanted you.
The moment I saw you.
I forgot
all about them.
The way you’ve 
It’s only fair. 


The Sanskrit word

for alphabet is

‘Khsara’ means erosion.
‘Akshara’ means that 
which can’t be eroded.
The written word survives.
Long after the spoken word 
has evaporated into 
thin air.
Every act of writing is
an attempt at immortality. 
To protect thoughts 
from the heavy boots of time
and a fickle memory.
Long after my sanity or 
my life takes leave of me
I will still be leaping 
out of pages.
Scaring the living day lights
out of my great grandchildren.
What fun!