Lies

Mamma’s belly no more pops out like a flower pot. Daddy says she can do the horse rides from room to room again, carrying me on her back.

Sitting at the dining table I am colouring a painting when guests arrive, brining gifts wrapped in shiny papers. They hand me the presents kissing me on both cheeks. Matching suits, stockings, plastic toys for teething, napkin sets, bedding… I pile them all under the bed.

Mum sits on the garden bench talking to aunties. The Peepal tree is huge. I try to fit myself under the shadow of giant leaves. Ashutosh digs the soil near its roots to hide marbles. He throws the marble from out of the puddle, looks at me, and cries. Mamma comes running towards us.

Dad puts his ears to Mummy’s tummy. It kicks, he says, putting my hand on the bulge. “You will have a sister to play with Ashu,” Mamma says, smiling at me.

Geeta masi has come from London. Sitting on the bed, she chit-chats with mama while I stitch my handkerchief, tucked in a sewing ring. “Ah, he has such butter cheeks. Isn’t your brother beautiful, Ashana?” asks Geeta Masi. I stop my stitching and look up. Geeta masi plays with Ashu, cupping his chin with her thumb and forefinger. Mum looks at me fixedly, until my mouth cracks into a smile and whispers an approving yes.

Once in a while

Don't you feel flamed or vexed, while unable to produce the exact words to befit your emotions or to let out the feeling suppressed within yourself to release this urgency of explaining the inexplicable or the clamour of thoughts. To render words which would form into to perfectly coherent sentences, its edges rounded and trimmed. Words which would support each other, assembling itself to frame a sentence which sounds distinct to ears and its syntax and grammar. Do you not crave for the seldom alliteration and anaphora to be innate in your writing.

Does not your sentence leave you with a feeling of sitting on a couch, uncomfortable; or donning a gown that you can't carry. Such are the times when I feel like diving into a fat book and swim in its content to understand the mechanics of writing, and to dissect the content words and the function. To say aloud the sound of each consonant and understand its altered effect and meaning to the sentence. To merry the mechanics of writing and satiating the outburst of letting the quill rundown its path flawlessly without rummaging the vocabulary to its every pocket.

Do you like the sodden bread crumbs in your soup. Insipid and unpalatable.

January 14

The sky is conspicuously clear
Taller buildings
Busier lives
Filled coffe shops...

Here's your kite
and here's your spool
gift thy pal
and mak him drool

Take some solace in the kiteflying application,
if you will.

blah

Put on those silencers please
To cease

This incessant burbling,
Irrepressible grumbling

This chitter chattery,
Foolish flattery.

It ain't a bout
O loose-lipped mouth -

Gift thy dental braces Jack
and quiet this quack.

( I ) At Dinner Table

"Two and a half lakhs," he said between bytes. "The Napean Sea Road flat was bought for two and a half lakhs in 1975." He stares at his food; he moves the fork along the rim of the plate. It was in November, he recalls. Dipping in red sauce motta kaka forks another strand of pasta. "The Parsis were paranoid," he chuckles; "Emergency was imposed by Indira Gandhi. The parsis couldn't keep the second flat under their name, so they sold it."


He takes some khichdi in a bowl. Pouring some buttermilk he continues, "We were scared. To shift from one place to the other. Vegetables were more cheap at Bhuleshwar. The flat was on the eleventh floor. What if the lift didn't work and we had to climb? There were no neighbours to look after kids. We couln't watch kids play on streets from such hieght. There was no dhudhwala at the end of the lane; there could be guests appearing without phoning. How to make sev dudh without milk? We bought the house for two and a half lakhs..." he ends the converstation abruptly.

It's time

It's time to read some more
and comprehend.

It's time to travel around
and rest.

It's time to stop the race
and step back.

It's time to fathom the life
and the non-living.

It's time to know it's time
and act.

I

I admire the ocean's longitude
I am scared of its depth

I fancy monsoon mornings
But for frightful stormy winds

I abhor littered roads
I ride on dusty lanes

I like the word cliché 
I dislike its overuse

I am an egalitarian
I am allergic to uniformity

I despise policies
I am a conformist