Thursday, March 31

All the blues

Written on the morning after the nightlong party the entire country(and the countrymen staying elsewhere in the world) had on 30th march, 2011, this post is a dedication to the game, the sentiments, the players and every Indian.

So I've decided to go blue for a while. Here is a list of all the things blue in my room, in my life:
  • Blue nail colour
  • Blue ink(i hate writing with blue ink, still).
  • Blue scrunchy/rubber band to tie my hair.
  • Blue bedsheets and pillow cover.
  • Blue towel.
  • Blue post its/prompts
  • Blue book marks
  • Blue desktop wallpaper.
  • Blue for washing clothes.
  • Blue funk
  • will write 'BLUE' before/after every text.
  • Blue-orning (blue morning) and blue night wishes.
  • Blue instead of 'hello' when I pick up the call.
  • 'Feel blue' (by some Slovak :P) as ringtone.
  • I'd have really bleed blue too if I were a  MIB-fame ET.Serious. (darn biology.)

Friday, March 25


21 comments wake up in a dream, I wander through the streets of memories once lived.
'do you hear me? I am talking to you'
craving to make the same mistakes, same crimes
over and over;
over and over.

I must write.
Must breathe.
I must suck the lifeless throbbing joy out of their veins.
I must, like the growing, brandishing corporate deity,
grip them with a disarming smile and make myself inevitable.
I must, like Macbeth's valentine, absolve my hands of the blood
which reeks of the transgressions I chose to so conveniently forget.
I must cry, and squirm, and cry some more-
"Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!"
A whimper of the bang that wasn't.

You wake up, this time in a real dream.

p.s.: shared with Thursday Poets Rally Week 40

Thursday, March 24

After the farewell

Remember how I touched your face , when you kissed me this morning?
I see my fingers and they remind me they are no longer touching you.
I hear my breath not falling over your shoulder, in your embrace.
I feel a tear falling over my cheek where there was once the brush of your two-day grown beard.

Wednesday, March 23

To my dearest birthday girl

We walked through the springs and purple summers,
Playing ring-a-ring-a-roses with many hands.
But found each other at sudden moments of shared aloneness.

We were here, there, everywhere.
Breakfast,lunch and dinner...spices and desserts.
Through Kundru(s)and pav bhajis, subways and hics!

Knocks on the early morning sleepy doors.
Walks replaced by other dear ones.
Closing up chapters of lives as allies in crimes.

Closing years are still to arrive!
The fun-ning dance and the eff-ing yum guy.
You and I, a repeat, only you and I.


p.s: 1) you know I am not a poet.
2) Tried. sorry for the lameness. I don't do 'happy' too well.
3) Happy birthday, my dear girl. <3

Monday, March 14

The Castle of Crossed Destinies

Wayanad, Kerela
 (I know)

Wings, I gave up
To hide in the web 
Which keeps me tangled, sad, content.

(Therefore I am)

We walked tipsy, intoxicated, mildly happy
Exchanged numbers, smiles, a few dance moves and secrets.
Betraying the web, seething to strangle the last smiles out of the beautiful slurring lips.


p.s.: 1)This Post is being written for THE POETRY CONTEST at as a part of WOMEN & BLOGGING month
2)shared with Haiku Heights prompt #34
3) A special thanks to the photographer, Naveen for the beautiful picture. 

Monday, March 7

The accident

My trembling fingers slip into your frozen palm,
Our eyes meet;mine searching,
Yours looking at me- lifeless.

Picture credit: Christophe Vanfleteren   
shared with Haiku heights Prompt #33

Saturday, March 5


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton Season 2 edition 18; the eighteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Perched on a rooftop wall, I looked down to see the tiny aggressive bodies running with stones in their hands towards the uniformed lot. The multitude of stones hurled did not deter the latter, since by now it had become a usual day-to-day affair for them. They could just take out another tear gas shell and throw it at the protesters. This would stop the buggers , at least for a while. 
They run from various directions and charge. In the background there is the rising smoke and the ringing echoes from the smoke grenades and rubber bullets being shot almost habitually at the screaming students.

This is a scene I witnessed in the midst of the students' agitation which has been going on in order to attain separate statehood for a certain section of Andhra Pradesh in a University, which is a stone's throw away(literally) from mine. As the world rises(cf. the middle-east) against the old systems and prejudices and practices - never mind the futility of many such endeavours - one becomes increasingly aware of not only the hustlers but also the people who are
supposedly uninvolved.

My eyes glued to the, almost dramatic, scene below see that on one half of the road, the protesting students and the RAF were after each other contentiously. On the other half which was just a divider away, there was normal traffic - lovers out on a romantic bike ride, parents fetching their children from the school, families going for a movie, a bridegroom on his way to his wedding in a glittering, decorated car etc, too busy living their lives to even bother to give the warring side of the road a glance. There was an occasional spark from a gun shot visible from amongst the trees. The wind also brought with it the evening azaan from the nearby mosque which went unnoticed by the crowd involved/captivated by the happenings. If one looked at the sky, there was the setting sun which brought the promise that yet another day of agitation would soon come to an end. 
picture credit:

Everything is blue.
Everything is dead.
Everything is mixed up.
I see a bright door, yet i am painted black.

At this moment, looking intently at my goosebumped arms, lost in the humbling thoughts that filled my mind, I felt immensely insignificant with respect to the larger order of things in the world. Suddenly a witness to the collage of all human emotions and passions- politics, hatred, possessiveness, love, mundane every day life, anger, frustration, curiosity, religion and even love- I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by this strange yet entirely matter-of-fact event. 

Maybe I am supposed to take up some charge and shout more slogans; or put down the cellphone, log out of the social networking sites and start signing more petitions, maybe I am supposed to go out and join fellow protestors and pelt some stones. But I haven't heard my calling yet.Should I just act because it is the 'in' thing to do? Or simple wait for a time more suited. Should I take a moment to see, feel and interiorize whats happening all around or simply turn my eyes to something brighter and walk away? I am not sure. Maybe I am supposed to come out of the passive unconcern that has set in my disposition. But it does not seem the right time to wake up yet. I shall be irresponsible by not acting, as many have already acted irresponsible with the power of action in their hands. I shall simply dream of a change; of a less-complicated, less chaotic world. A change which the entire world is awaiting with anxious eyes and held breaths. Until then,

Everything is blue.
Everything is dead.
Everything is mixed up.
I see a bright door, yet i am painted black.

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