In April


In April

Gazing at a lone star in the night sky,
In rumination I light my farstar;
Thinking why my star is away so far,
I wish I had wings that would make me fly.

April begins with a heavy cascade,
Draping the one thing we can agree on;
While these little drops fall in nonchalance,
I miss you, and I hope to see you soon.

Hard are the days I’ve to spend without you,
For without you happiness is but few.



52.2 Delhis

I am 52.2 Delhis away from you.
A place which I can’t even fathom
what it looks like.  Or how magnificent
would that Vijay’s palace be,
Does it have a marquee with red & white stripes?
Still I, who’s never been once, find it hard not to ponder over it.

I only wish the heart of The Republic
would be gentle to you.  Even though
the stars are the only ‘astro’ we could agree upon, now.
I feel elated when you
knock on my cell phone & sends ‘INDUH’
with all its acronym-like stressed capitalization.

I don’t know why, but I am feeling lonely tonight.
Do you remember those nights when I
tried damn hard to let you forget
the ugly memories of your wounded past?
Those days were the monsoon of our life;
but we’d found the silver linings.

My only wish which remains is
to be another memory of yours.  Not
just that young chap who helped you
to see things through.
And minutes after midnight, here I am
waiting for another beep on my Nokia.
Thinking—when will the Physicist finish
regurgitating those sigmas, deltas, gammas & equations
that always scare the shit out of me.



It is easy to think that any one who doesn’t like you,
Likes everyone who doesn’t like you.

A land belongs to the people, & people like us—
who are alienated, segregated and isolated
in these hinterlands.  From a great civilization
whose fame expands far beyond boundaries
and eons of history where the greatest achievements
of mankind have been witnessed then and now.

We are its illegitimate brother, bonded by the imperialist white. And a conflate
of brown & yellow can never become something nice.  Though we too, chant ‘jai hind’, our voices
fade in the midst of disdain and discrimination
since we are the shallow yellow fellows who are
not more precious than a cow.

But we too, sing ‘Vande Mataram’
& pledge our allegiance to the Tiranga,
Even when we are asked to pay extra rupees
to enter the Taj.  Because we are the yellow
pad that lets the magnificent lotus
floats on water.


From here, to there

th433mffucFrom here, to there
You are the subject of my love
Where I gladly submit myself as an object
Who suffers your action.

I know I shall never be able to
change this love of ours
from ‘noun’ to a ‘verb’

But when our past, present and future collide
I feel ‘tense’ because you have always been
sticking in my heart like that little
mole on your nose.  You are more
than what you think you are, and I always
wonder as far as to think you’re my
ancient of days.

I may just an adjunct which fits barely
to form your perfect sentence.  A parasite
who feeds on the magnanimity of your
frivolous ways.  Leave behind
the shadows,
A desperate unsolicited love is
waiting . . .
Because the word ‘verb’ is a ‘noun’.


Sweet Surprise!

It is said that the noblest act is kindness to strangers.  I used read the column on readers digest where someone’s kindness to strangers is written.  But I never expect to experience in person.
Today, I went to RG Stadium with a bosom friend of mine.  We were trying to witness our first live experience of I league.  On our way, a stranger was waving his hands at us.  I thought he mistook me as his friend.  But it was not, he was simply asking us whether we were going to watch the game or not and my reply was a yes.  Then he took out his ticket and gave me since he would not be able to attend the game.  And he vanished even before I gave him a proper compliment.  It was an unexpected sweet surprise.
At the stadium, a man about my father’s age asked me if he could sit with us or not.  My reply was ‘of course’ since I’m not the owner of the seats.  The game was dull and little bit prosaic since the sun was still reigning over us.  All the players were lethargic, it seem.  Then sometime at the second half, the man beside me bought ice cream for me and my friend even without asking him.  He said we need to chill to cheer for our team.  I gulped the ice cream pretty fast since the weather demanded some kind of hydration.  It was a treat!
I don’t know the name of the man who gave us the ticket and the other who bought us an ice cream.  All that I know is they’re from Bethlehem and Tlangnuam.  But one thing I am certain is that they are kind.  As a young man who has been secluded throughout my life and dislike public gatherings, I’ve never witnessed the kind of instances which I experienced today.  I’m convinced that humanity is still out there and there are people who help others without expecting anything in return, but be magnanimous without any ostentation.
Please my kind misters, consider this as my way of saying thank you.  You guys really did make my day awesome.  And my dear friends, Jonah and Dustin, I’m really grateful to you as well.  If not for the two of you, I would have to squeeze out my life savings to experience that kind of magic.  Thank you! Thank you.



The night is young & quiet
and the waning moon
shivers in the winter sky.
In the stillness,
Some mongrels are howling
‘Victory belongs to our Lord’
Their pestering voices echo in the hills.

They say that dark forces are coming
—the forces of Beelzebub—
in two-fold, with all their might
to smite & obliterate us,
If we do not repent for our sins
like the people of Nineveh.

I, an absurdist, do not take
any heed to their ominous augury,
It is nothing but an asinine fatuity.
Despite the annoyance,
It’s been quite a remarkable night,
Because I’ve witnessed the madness
of piteously pious people.

But the dawn is breaking. The birds twitter,
& the infinite radiance of the sun
is coming from the eastern horizon
to consume all darkness.






You came to me, one monsoon night,
while I was sitting alone, frozen
at one corner of my cubicle, thinking
soberly intoxicated and wide awake
from the debris of thought and despair
that had weighed me down.  I was

a July in December.  A bohemian
that didn’t quite fit with the world,
was how I felt.  But,
you told me that you were the key
to open the slender solace for my soul,
that might keep me ‘holding on’.

I opened, the journal,
and poured my heart out with words
I’ve imbibed from your intoxication
to the white blank pages.
I told myself, why
had I been searching for the key
when you were always open for me.

X & Y



Remember the X and Y,
Plotted on vertical and horizontal lines,
Where you and I were first introduced to it,
In the class on economics.
A subject so alien,
That petrified most students.
A greek that everyone finds it,
Hard to comprehend.

Remember the axis,
You were the Y’s and I the X’s,
The demand curve and the supply curve,
Where you and I were made to understand,
For the first time in our life,
That—for every demand there is a supply,
And from that point onwards,
you were my demand,
You realized it and supplied.

Remember the bend in the axis,
The twist, the curls, the saucers and the Ls,
That there were fluctuations in the cycles,
Like seasons in a year
Where winter succeeds summer.
That everything ultimately changed,
Even hearts—in the long-run;
Finally we departed from our equilibrium.

Even if you forget me,
Whom you traded-off for another,
Remember the axis always,
Where I was and now: still your X.




i finally saw her face today,
lovely as the ‘darling buds of may’.
for a while the earth stood still,
the ground possessed me like magnet to a metal,
because she was walking towards me
& then smiled at me, nonchalantly.
my being froze as if it were a statue,
for a while gravity didn’t mean a thing,
i felt closer to heaven & the sky was falling,
i went so far as to think that i own the time;
all my troubles seemed a distant memory,
because i’ve just seen her face.




seven billion souls
and I am single
seven continents
and I am bereft of a land
that I may call my own
but I still breathe, without paying

seven oceans
but my jar is empty
my mind’s spring as well
but still my body is 70% liquid

seven days in a week
to remind me I’m still alive
and seven deadly sins
I must not indulge with
yet mine is the deadliest
for I am a rebel
against my own existence

still, I am here
—alive and acutely active—
in seven hours past the GMT
burning the midnight oil
reassuring myself that
the rainbow has seven colours
but still my hair is black