Friday, August 29, 2014

The Look

I ponder over the look
that didn't exist
Or did it...

The song he chose
was as harmless
as his accidental touch
Or was it...

The conversation ebbed
replaced by a comfortable silence
though our hearts were in a tizzy
Or were they...

His unabashed invitation
adulation, appreciation, adoration
were sincere and honest
Or were they..

I still ponder over the look
that didn't exist
Or did it...

Monday, August 25, 2014

Its Goodbye

And when it is the end of the road, the signs become all too clear...

You're removed from social media, and then from their phones, and then from their lives. Gone. In three easy steps.

But this time, I am prepared. I am not bitter or upset. Nor angry. I am pursuing my karma and in doing so if I have to let go, then so be it.

Its goodbye my dear cuz, until our paths cross again.. Godspeed!

Friday, August 22, 2014

The Picture on the Wall

Its amazing how we can overlook something every day and one day, as we lie in bed, we 'see' it.

The picture on the wall....

A vacation we took when we were still very young
and very much in love,
when it meant so much to travel together
that we almost always shared a berth,
even on empty trains

We are sitting on a beach in your home town,
I'm smiling coyly as I lean towards you
You're looking straight at the camera,
your impish, bare-all-teeth smile that I first fell for,
apart of course from your deadly good bod :-)

A time when I was the young bride
eager to please
wearing an Indian outfit, a 'bottu' on my forehead,
though I drew the line at the flowers in my hair
and the rice on the plate, with curd and a banana

Our first years together, long rides in the rain
games of scrabble and a wok full of fettuccini
Or the poetry of John Donne
that I insisted on reading to you
stopping only to share a kiss

Im not a pleaser any more
and you're more mature and certain...
In 19 years, much has changed
Yet, much remains unchanged
like the picture on the wall

Thursday, August 7, 2014

The Really Wrong Turn

A girl being grabbed by lascivious men on a bus — sounds eerily familiar, doesn’t it? But this girl is not Nirbhaya (as she was christened by the Indian media), the 23-year-old student who was brutally gang-raped and murdered in Delhi in December 2012.

This particular girl is in a photoshoot called ‘The Wrong Turn’, and she’s wearing some high-fashion clothes and accessories, in a stylised setting (which happens to be a bus), while men with near-perfect bodies paw at her.

Even if you haven’t seen the photos from this fashion shoot by photographer Raj Shetye, the image that’s conjured up in your mind would undoubtedly sicken you as you invariably make the connection between the gang-rape incident and this depravity that’s being referred to as “art” by Shetye.

The photographer claims that he came up with the concept long before the Delhi incident, but happened to shoot it recently. Here is another man who refuses to consider the impropriety of his creative idea less than two years after the entire world woke up to the brutality that young woman had endured at the hands of her perpetrators, and takes refuge under “art” and “creativity”.

Much like those companies with deep pockets but clearly shallow souls who allow their marketing experts to use women to sell deos for men, underwear for men, motorbikes and such, Shetye probably just wanted publicity and found the perfect method to get it.

As women we are fed up of such ‘creative’ expressions and sick of men (or women) with such ‘artistic’ inclinations that endorse and perpetuate gender biases, that treat women as commodities and that glamorise acts of violence.

Shetye deserves all of our collective condemnation and a complete boycott of all his works, past, present and future. Let artists be aware of lines of propriety, decency and humanity before resorting to such expressions of creativity.

This post first appeared on

Friday, August 1, 2014


the other side of the bed
felt empty

Your slanted body
arm tucked under your head
the quilt wrapped around your torso

When I opened my eyes
that was the sight
I'd expected to see

I reached out
but the sheet was cold
the pillows in place

Don't know yet
if it's you I miss
Or miss "us"
the way we used to be