Monthly Archives: December 2015


There is a full moon
in the sky tonight,
bathing everything
in white.

It’s Christmas Eve.

The air has the chill
of imminent miracles.

Anything can
happen tonight.

Tonight we can all drop
the stones
clenched in our fists.
Smother the
angers smouldering
in our hearts

Re-learn to be kind.
Believe in people again.
Forge the past.
Move on.

Be nicer human beings.
Believe in miracles.

Be miracles.

Give ourselves
a second chance.

Tonight’s the night
to remember that
the only message
the Messenger came
deliver was



The first great
pain of our life
leaves us numb.

Time slides off us.
Things lose their meaning.
The roar of the world,
a distant rumble.

As we heal
we realise that
numb is good.

To feel is to hurt.

So we practice
going through life
feeling a little less.

We practice
being numb

It becomes our
first line of
defence against
the battalion of
life sends
our way.

Our coping

I can count the smiles
I see everyday with the
fingers of my hands,
in  a city of twenty-two
million people.

It’s that bad.


People who get up early
have plans.

As opposed to people
with no plans,
like me.

People who rise early
have things to do.

They have worms
to catch,
runs to go for,
mails to respond to,
presentations to write,
meditations to do,
healthy breakfasts
to eat and offices to
reach so that they can
work for a better tomorrow.

Most days I
crawl out my bed,
nursing a hangover,
still dealing with last night.

It takes all kinds.

Let them seize the day.
I love the night.


Your love like a
ravenous python
has crushed the last
indifferent bone
in my body,
squeezed the last
breath of doubt
out of my lungs
and swallowed me

As I slide into
the warm darkness,
your juices break my
complexities down to
blind matter
and basic needs.

Simplifying me.

Thank you for that.

Most people find me
hard to digest.




My wife bought
tickets for us all,
for a Sunday morning
magic show by a man
who calls himself
‘The Mentalist’.

I know. I know.

But if you are seven
months pregnant
you get your way
in pretty much anything.

‘What’s a mentalist?’
asked my eight year old.

‘Someone who can read
other people’s mind.’
said his mother.

‘I don’t wanna go then.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I have
secrets in my head I
don’t want anybody
to know’

My teeth ached
from a sudden,
desire to bite him.

Anything that sweet
is totally edible.


It was well past midnight
when I got back from the

It was a fun night.
I was nice and high.

I greeted the old watchman
of my building,who opened
the gate for me,
with a cheerful hello.

He just grinned back.
Flashing his tobacco stained teeth.

Then I noticed his
sweater and and
the woollen scarf
around his neck.

‘Fever?’ I asked.
He shook his head.

‘Feeling cold?’ I asked

He nodded
with a toothy grin.

I stared at him
in astonishment.
I mean, yes, it’s December.
But this is Mumbai,
for God’s sake!
We don’t have a winter!

I was sweating in my fucking
shirt sleeves.

‘How can you feel cold?
I persisted, as slightly drunk
people do.

He grinned happily and said
‘I Just spoke to my family.
It’s snowing in my village’

I was wracked with
guilt and guilt.

because God
hasn’t given me
half his imagination.

Guilt because
a man with this gift
stays awake
while I sleep.

This man who can
hear the
snow falling on the
Deodar trees
in his village in
the Himalayas
every time he
closes his eyes.


Simplicity is what we need.
Complicated is what we like.

Thus, the misery.

Picture this.

Complicated is
swaying bare feet
down a street,
slightly drunk,
holding her stilettos
in one hand
and a book of poems
in the other,
minding her
own business.

She has a body of
someone who does an
hour of yoga,
six tattoos of which
we can see only two,
doesn’t believe in God
and makes us want to sin.

She looks like she
can out-drink,
out-crazy us.

She looks like fun
with tonnes of baggage
and nary an ounce of sense.

Simplicity, meanwhile,
is waving to us in a
yellow dress with a bright smile
on her pink cheeks.

Are we even looking?