A TRIP BACKWARDS

 Growing up emotions cuddled in the orange warm blanket 

now forgotten tossed aside in the wooden bunk bed

yellow stained albums of school picnic some unrecognisable faces

black and white pictures carefully preserved then, now unwanted space

hazy numbers on old bundled and forgotten salary slips

paper files of old cheque books and passbooks 

announcements of new family additions via postcards

additions, on way to retirement soon 

romantic cards and long worded letters arranged date wise

files as antique as the thirty-six years of marital togetherness. 

Tedious chore to clear bunk bed and old suitcases 

separate obstinate pictures from damp albums

garbage bags queue to fill musky discoloured files 

a week's effort cleans the room

old suitcases and bags given in charity. 

an age-old-procrastinated task finally accomplished.

Each photo bounces different thoughts

childhood, youth, marriage, children 

nostalgia reveals contours of life's stages

many aged family members just remain as pictures

loss a vacuum unoccupied.

mundane task ahead to compress memories in gigabytes

click or swipe in future to see life backwards.

The orange blanket sits alone in the bunkbed

its comfort hugs me in my imagination as I write.

NO EXPIRY DATE

 DEATH OF THE WEST

I

watch millions of rupees wasted in just a name change

colonized names of Indian cities scrubbed hard by politicians 

Bombay to Mumbai, Madras to Chennai, the endless list

I

stare as citizens relish western fries, burgers and colas 

willingly immerse head to toe

 in Ray bans and Gucci's to Nikes and Reebok's

free models for all western brands

chained for forever

I

gape at my youth's race for western universities and jobs

the amenities of green card or other Western passports

my blue passport easily bartered

 

I  

soak tears of their parents' eternal wait 

and the struggle of grandparents' inability to 

comprehend grandchildren's western accents

I fumble 

at shops full of 

cakes and cards of Halloween and Valentines' day

I

am awestruck at an Indian Prime minister of country that ruled us

and another in nail-biting contest in another western democracy

Who am I?

A country of teeming millions, 

an endless market for western commodities 

a mute witness to the myriad hats of west

each time a new garb or a new mask to camouflage.

A WET HOLIDAY IN NINETIES

Deep in dreams, my wet strands awaken me
bedsheet moist, husband's wet back tapped
water around us, power outage, stoic ceiling fan stares
in-laws in the second room startled
daybreak lost in confusion
soaked sun towels itself

Cyclone hits a small town in southern India
dried sun captures the devastation
cracks on roads, uprooted tusks of trees fallen
electric poles and wires dangle, dead crows in drains
thatched huts roofless and bare

Nightmare jolts us all, no potable water
the rich and poor for once on the same page
rationed water bought in containers boiled,
colour of water muddy and red

Schools and offices closed; railway tracks submerged
telephone on a long-hushed silence
a walk around the town, lives reversed in minutes
old newspapers and magazines the breezy substitute

Candles and matchboxes in strong demand,
a week of pitch darkness
candlelight dinners in trickling sweat the new routine
musical score of tiny insects and mosquitoes
the undesired entertainment
each night a new game of treasure hunt
for recognized items
streetlights enjoy the night out
stars and sky the new celebrities in town
television just another rectangle

Government's efforts slowly bear fruit, tracks restored
chaos ends, we travel back, order restored
consolation, cyclone spared human lives.

© Now      

MEMORABLE HOMEWORK

Icing for the groggy eyes and foggy brain

few minutes left for the familial 5.45 alarm 

long yawns caress the bed side bottle

the ring straightens me, ten steps sauntered

splashed water awakes me, hubby's peck starts my day.

inner growls silenced in meditation next

yoga poses gear to follow

shower, pray and write, each glued at their spot

breaks in between charge my battery

cook then read, the mind and body enriched with the flow

rhythm of it as spicy as the cooked curry 

or as soft as rolled chapatis

therapeutic Wordle or Sudoku post lunch itineraries in queue.

Household chores peep in between, each escort the subsequent

persistent repetition flavours day's design 

teen foam over cup of tea stimulated in tuitions after

workout of tolerance at times with zoned out adolescents

exhausted mind itches for physical movement

Setting sun watches my laps or gym exercise

 a valuable contentment

a joy so intimate none can decode

half supine, laze on the couch well earned

web series enjoy the Indian aromas on our plates

all dimensions used, bed beckons the filled persona

each activity a treasure trove

the devil far from the workshop

the mind and body vaccinated to ward it off

the ring of next day in store

THE BOOKSHELVES

 Did Elanor succumb to Ralph's temptations, or James felt heartbroken at Elanor's secret?

My drooping eyes bid them goodnight, eager to chat with them the next day

Lonely or moody, angry or happy, characters snuggled in bookshelf  

takeout time, engross me in their musky world, 

my dislike for Ralph 

heightened respect for James chews each word. 

 Relations with unknown travellers, some brief, some stretch

last month on Bosporus River, the pervious on German border 

my days or months soak in Naipaul's wet British weather

or chill in Desai's Darjeeling with the old judge.

The lure of the printed pages, the authors stares

as I pass amidst chores

stacks of spirituality, suspense, memoirs fantasy, fiction 

in comfort of my living room, a bit of me arrested in some page

in novels read.

The comfort of their presence in shelves or in my hand

pleasure of their company, they do not judge me, nor leave my side. 

My house lifeless in their absence, 

shelves increase to nudge old ones and shift for new arrivals

old ones revisited to jog memory

some wink at the other, author in two places

favourites do emerge, yet none left out

conversation of lifetime

both committed hands held in matrimony forever.

EVENING OF LIFE

Three steps walked with bent back, then straight with a sigh

fourth visit to the loo, the clock's eyes meet mine

only two hours since he woke up
frequency taught in physics lessons
now in practice, husband's ramp walks back to the sofa.

Frantic search for eyeglasses of mine
spouse's hearty laugh greets my smirk
his fingers touch perched eyeglasses on my head.

Each day a new theatrical performance,
actors and audience one and the same
opening morning shot
act of balance without rainbow bruised knees and elbows

Memory games tried with personalised variations
of, if pills were eaten or the same pill eaten twice
of anniversary messages with muddled names of spouses

Mathematics a weekly affair to round dwindling savings
or to count the scarce ring of doorbell or phone
each intrusion heartily awaited amidst
catnaps and melody of open mouth snores

The bathroom mirror does its daily homework
numbering hairs left on scalp
kids of the block do Maths practice
of our residual teeth
Indoor game of hide and seek for keys, mobile and pen
tireless activities for the timeless

Visit to doctor, a frequent outing
walking stick, dentures and hearing device
the new besties in tow
old outings preserved in mobile galleries
a finger count of number of faces alive

Silence and ennui, the permanent roomies
share the opera of groans and grunts
each time one sits or stands
physical exercise of a cracked dimension

Both on couches, pleated skins
sixty-five years of glued life
a marriage anniversary, a marvel in itself
each feed the other bit of the sweet
the bespectacled pair stares fondly

She serves his favourite potato fry
he orders her apple pie a shared ritual
the room full of chuckles, table laid with dishes
thirty-two years over, her eyes moist

shrivelled anniversaries of times ahead.

   

DOMAIN

This is how the painter's strokes of each flower and bud

tempt my attempt to coat her vision

Nature's umpteen riot of buds and bulbs

crawl across the man-made wall.

The towering barrier braced to bifurcate nature

spectacle armoured to blanket the cooped side

Both sides of greenery refreshing as morning coffee

manufactured bricks pile to leave their hardened print 

caress of enchanting flora on the tender Earth obscured.

A battle for one scarce resource 

mankind teased to enjoy the palette of nature

apprehensive crevices or fences may swallow the rush of beauty.

  

PERCEPTION

To the staring sky. few sets of scraped fingers protrude

a barren sight of sun-tanned figurines

erect and tall as human egos

some sided coarse as jilted anger

 others smooth as politician's lies

layers of rocks solidified for support.

Man made Legos in competition

Discarded pebbles and stones on the floor

whimper, the lonely plant offering sympathy

A landscape stripped of moisture

war torn eyes bereft of tears

nations supplying weapons to wipe.

The brick orange matching cloud patches

chin up endorsed reaching for 

orange streaks amidst

sprinkled blobs of white on sachets of blue.

Each spec narrating their own story

with no one to listen

THE FIRST ONE

 16.30, the phone rings, ecstatic voice of my dad ' it's a girl'

Aug 8th, that evening, a little angel entered our lives

my feet rush to the hospital to glimpse this awaited addition.

She was ours, little Niharika.

The sun, moon, stars, all a blur for our family 

her wails, her burps, sneezes. smiles 

was what world seemed for our family in the next couple years.

Her smile cooling scorching summery Indian afternoons 

her warm hug soothing clattering cold mornings 

every pair of hands eager to hold her.

A stray dog caught her attention

her curiosity caught my dad's attention

and we got Snoopy, a cute fluffy dog.

a four-legged cutie who never left Niharika alone.

Half century of mine and my sis over

yet feels like yesterday her first smattered words

Anna kolakochy and Babuchi.

Her accidental choke on an ice cube 

blue, her lip colour stopped all our hearts for a sec. 

my mum's timely effort saved her, little did my mum knew 

hidden traits this little one would make her practice.

Fifteen years ago, this girl flew from her nest

today, building her own with warmth and love of Jamie.

A boy, whom my Mum adores a lot, maybe if not less

equal to Niharika. 

Jamie, welcome to our family. just as she is our first one

you are like our first son.  

Two matured adults, building their life brick by brick

We may be far away tucked in sands of Qatar

but just remember, there are still many pairs of hands 

eager to help you, hug you both and take care 

if you ever need us. 

Loads of love to the beautiful new couple.............

FOR YOUR EYES

 Thirty-two years over, yet words fumble 

a million images of you twined

in pores of my skin and heart

each visual races others pine

twenty-six letters of the alphabet

inept to qualify to conjure you.

Yet I attempt

a thin, quiet person, an engineer and employed 

elders chose for merger of my soul 

the only four descriptives applicable then. 

All of twenty-seven then, now inching to sixty

where did the years in between escape?

Caught in your warmth, your silly jokes

your rock-solid support, your snorting sounds

your flexible attitude, your snoring lullabies

your relaxed nature, your thrown socks on carpet

your pampered nods and your loud music

Years watch as  

grey hair replaces thick black curls

lines on neck appear for me to gaze

and listen your excited boyhood stories 

and happy childhood lanes.

Each lane traversed by me and Deeksha

multitude times.

A person whom we take for granted, 

a person for whom family matters most

a person who loves his job

a person who genuinely cares

a person who loves his routine

a person who taught us so much.

a person who shies from his own birthdays.

But today, 

a birthday worthy of mention

sixtieth, an year to remember

the last fifty-nine, passed well

lost a few close ones in the journey

 some added, each relation special. 

A mixed journey of hiccups and sneezes

aches and balms at some crossings

hugs and cuddles at others.

Forty more to go, 

oh no - your automated response

yet each new day, month or year

a journey, where if you turn

I would be there always for you.

Happy birthday, Kumar.

HAND IN HAND

 An adorable pair, a cocktail of two warm hearts,

each besotted with love and respect for the other. 

Their open hearts seat everyone they know

friends galore be it in Dukhan, Doha or Mumbai.

His free spirited will, organising enthusiasm

and impulsive streaks are but a few of his charms. 

Sandy explorations to midnight drives, 

hot teas in watery seas to fourteen shots in tow

he, a perfect example to relish life's each moment.

Flowers and leaves, seas and birds, sun and the moon, 

her true besties, all aches and pains dissolved.

Her generous smile, her innocent nature

a trait winning hearts all around.

Her fish curry, her plum cake, each bring a cheer on his face

Dishes alien on her menu before now her expertise

Taste of Shrikhand specially, a sweet reminder of the month of March.

His searching eyes be it in a crowd or a group

constantly caring for her every subtle need. 

His unending helping gestures making 

her journey a smooth sail.

Arul Mama, Vaishali Mami, a duo adored by 

their nieces and nephews everywhere.

We all can never have enough of you, 

you both only grow better and better

just as wine in an oak barrel.

Twenty-five years flew by, twelve before my eyes

many more twenty-fives to follow, this enchanting bond 

of a couple whose partnership melted religions, languages

and our hearts away. 

AN ODD RECOLLECTION

 

School summer break, little Indian town

mid noon stares of burning sun on empty streets 

the small iron grilled window up the wall

one nine year and another ten

perched on the long couch below

fried cashews and raisins afloat the milky rice pudding 

my mum's little summer treat.

 

couch jumping a naughty pastime 

mum's reprimand on siblings deaf ears

sudden fear in my eyes replace the frolic

a tall strange rustic face at the windowsill

my sister runs for mum

he threatens to kill my dad.

stone faced; body transfixed

my twin ears hear door latched from outside

frantic steps of my mum from inside 

he disappears.

Desperate attempt to open the door, 

shout for neighbours

their doors latched like ours, 

phones alien in our town houses then

huddled in houses, mum stares out of window

clock ticks, some passersby on street at last

our door unlatched. 

subsequent unlatch of neighbour's doors 

men returning home from work

setting sun has a tale to settle

the afternoon scares shared 

a tight hug from dad, we feel safe.

A thief my dad caught in a house break in.

a different street, a different year

yet his memory strong of my father's face

just like mine today

his revenge found our address

my dessert of raisin and cashew lost taste.

MY IV DRIP

 Mine is a mix of various concoctions

My mind left for a minute spins dramas of fear, guilt and dread

sagas enough to fill theatres all over the world

stories so dramatic and intriguing, many a time spiced unconsciously by me 

it's as if my mind knows me better than I know it 

 a part of me, yet seems so out of control 

it just waits to gallop, tired lands me irritated and angry

relations strained with words that mind spits out.

Mercy of online search engines

picked up one tool for repair

morning pages being my first shield,

exercise, meditation, scripture reading suffixed 

Each seeped into my life

a daily routine I adhere on most days

keeps me afloat

Times I feel abandoned, caught in claws of my mind

I get sucked, old practices ready to engulf me

my new practices throw the anchor

the rope I miss at times

Few years ago, scorecard was one on ten

more than half a dozen years of try

scorecard now around five on ten.

Sudoku, poetry, singing and reading my stepneys

I look forward for my own company

Mood swings now an occasional flu

 medicines do work, 

I just try to remember to 

stock myself each day.

WHO AM I ?

 Who am I, I often ponder

The mind throws a blank stare

startled at this new question

it strings words together

hmmm, 

maybe an amalgamation 

of emotions, thoughts, memories and incidents

or maybe veins, arteries, limbs wet in red fluid.

submerging I picturise the unseen in the brain

some emotions corroded, some eroded in debris

few cheerful as the sunrise

some unwanted gnaw in periods

several in abyss, intellect psyched to look.

Is this my definition,

or labels of daughter, cousin, friend 

wife, mother, acquaintance or stranger identify me.

every label with its own expiry date

some wear out premature

handful may sink in the horizon of amnesia 

each label fattened again and again 

with expectations and desires.

Or am I a nature's spec

just like the trees, the ocean, the hills, sand and mud

each so diverse from the other, yet incomplete without the other

 the mind blank again 

blindfolded vowels and consonants  

grope in self-created darkness.

My visualisation an unsuccessful attempt

I sigh, my midlife query remains unanswered

The doorbell rings, my mind and body 

in a default zone garb the apt label

spec adjusts to the role

limbs enact the part.

FRAME

 

Uneven mighty rock towers the landscape

spraying the clouds its dark shadows

its strewn discarded parts poke out of the froth below

Exhausted sun settling in horizon below

it's trickly rays still sticking out in streaks

completing end of day tasks 

golden reflection on the patch of water below

moon and stars stretch on their beds 

gearing to start night watch

The black layered rock awaits the nocturnal friend's company

lullaby of the dark strewn clouds. 

The solo crocheted pattern, the bed sheet of cloud

a picturesque drape for the mountain ridges

the small black rocks, the foamy vapour

all dreamily lulled into a peaceful slumber.

SHADE OF LOVE

 We wait for you yearlong, come to give us the

mischievous green grins, smiley blue hugs, moisty red handshakes,
bright pink cheeks and peepy orange chins.
Each colour's multiple owners cloaked in sprightly shades of confusion.
A hotchpotch of chuckles and giggles paint roads and homes
no pause for sweetshops till machines,
the beams of online shopping sites and shops.

The five-year-old naming colours of her recognition
the toothless riot on grandpa's moustache
grandma's moist eyelashes in kitchen lost,
in bucket splashes on friends of college days
sweet aromas decked on bowls shared with friends and family.
Friends smeared with hues of invisible attachments.
Each Indian family a lavish palette for painter's canvas,
a smile on sun's lips for this new colourful global patch

Egos washed, pains and cramps dissolved,
the festival of Holi, a welcome knock for every Indian door.

A PASSING YEAR

Gentle tap of the family of even four

the constant twenty dusts 

wintery dew on cold chairs

twenty-twenty four a new guest

baggage of three-sixty-five days 

mingled thoughts of seven billion

another year of seasonal spice.

wintery nails scrape the door

remind numbered days to slip by

the cold stretch narrows 

bartered degrees fluff global warming 

scorching summer emotions 

in queue drain multiple moods

ice-creams and colas coat plastic thirst

symphony of fans and airconditioners 

drown heated egos.

drops on roofs somewhere, cars afloat elsewhere

well-rehearsed rains invade houses, fields and alleys

it knows no name.

Countries play musical chair with hesitation.

Flowers bloom, fields dance, some farmers agitate

governments crease brows over farmed tea and wheat biscuits

tunnels, alleys underneath fields shriek of silent horrors

echoes mutilated under armoured tanks

desolate walls holed with decorations

inmates shrunk in dungeons below

sirens, raids replace music.

Holed walls with no breath for company

snow and mice caricature ruins

egos unwilling for a break

A trimester over, nine more months to go

one breath of freedom for all

Is the past an amnesia for mankind? 

Mankind lost in new romance

ChatGPT and AI, the new bed fellows.

Enough, pleads and laments the poor year.

DESIGN OF LIFE

Dreams rotate, alarm squeaks, feet gravitate towards flipflops.

 White toothpaste ready to cleanse teeth and groggy dreams,

Hands grab towel, mind attempts to awake,

feet cover the robotic ten steps to altar room,

accustomed hands folded; body set for the day.

Exercise, tea accompany morning pages and meditation,

pattern etched as in the curtains of the living room,

A conviction for the day snowballs easily.

Wrinkles in relations smoothen, scratch to gossip foggy,

novel pages intimate to Indian aroma of fingers

characters in race with spiciness of curry 

the Wordle app gears to occupy me next,

Sudoku book stares for its turn

Ancient game of household tasks

tops the charts.

Design of life to keep moving,

A game of musical chair, roles shift,  

Acting continues till director whispers cut.