Thursday, August 28, 2014

To my wife

Hi,

Sorry I was late. Rather late. But not you, oh no, you were right on time as always, and waiting! Don't ask me why, but I felt like writing another letter to you. And yes you can imagine this conversation in whispers under a sheet, I'll give you that, being a wife and all that. Knowing me as you do, you may duly imagine my snorts of shrill laughter at places you deem appropriate.

I don't know how to break this to you, but, I love you. Let that sink in. I love you.

Now, I am not one of those who love like they were born to love. Or the ones who live to be able to love, and love to be able to live. I think I just live our love, and I don't think I can live without our love. They have enough lunatic lovers on the planet to last them another IMDB. But I am fine with letting Romeo breathe easy in his grave about his legacy, no insecure competition here. I just love you the way I love you. But let me explain that.

I don't mean I'm not cupid-eyed stupid, or truly, madly, deeply yours. I am, I am in love like God made love. But I love you better than crazy, I love you mind-and-soul. I love you water-and-fish, not ship-and-iceberg. I love you heart-and-heartbeat, not die-and-live-forever. I belong to you like prayer belongs to gods, like wind belongs to poets, like Krsna belongs to Radha. I am cruelly, badly, cheekily yours.

I can grab stars and crystals for you, I can catch fire burning in your intensity, and I can sure as hell write the cheesiest poem about your black tresses made of the night. But I guess what would really make it worthwhile for me is that stolen look of yours from above the coffee mug, at a late hour really late in life. Or the better hours of a grey-haired, sleepyhead morning in a wood cabin by the river. Or a chirpy home full of grand-children talking trash about their parents to us. Yeah, that about completes it. Given the sex on the rooftop later that year.

I'm a big man in my head. With a tiny, minuscule sense of responsibility, little patience, and a rather compulsive thing for cheap, insensitive humor. But one couldn't call me emotionless, for my feelings are frozen tears. Instead of emotional, call me heartfelt. Instead of cheesy, cheeky. And you? You, my dove, are my warm chocolate fudge! You are the fire to my freeze, the cheese in my cheeks, the freedom in my fumble.

More than made for each other, I think we were made together. You know how questions and answers are made together? How the river and the shore are made together, how a man and woman must have been made together. More than two pieces of a puzzle, I think we are two broken halves of a piece lost on the floor.

The way you look at me hasn't changed since the first time I looked into your eyes. Wait, scratch that, too cheesy. Let me rephrase. The way you check me out hasn't changed since the first time I caught you ogling at me. Hah, better.

I love eating fruits, I love going to the gym, I love waking up early, and I love cribbing about it all. Calling you names in the morning when you poke holes in my head like a woodpecker cuckoo, making stinky faces when you kiss me all chirpy, threatening an apple for its life that you gave me to eat, I wouldn't know how to show my love if not for these little gestures. And you stand there smiling, sit there in satisfaction, as I make a fantastic fool out of myself.

I don't love you because I like you. I barely like you only because I love you. God save you if I didn't have this fuzzy, filling, fudge in my heart every time I thought of you. If only our gazes weren't lock and key... sigh.

My emotional, sensitive, loving wife, I will always love you. My brilliant, beautiful, balanced wife, I want to make babies with you.

Talking of babies, do you want to try the balcony, or the roof tonight?

Thursday, October 03, 2013

Engraved, not buried

Suddenly reminded of you a lot
And suddenly, I catch myself thinking
It's buried too deep now. 

Suddenly I can't stop feeling it
But I'm not feeling it as much
It's buried too deep now. 

And suddenly I catch my face contorting
My eyes leaking
My veins visible
Suddenly I'm not such a grown up anymore. 

Suddenly I'm back in college. 

Tuesday, June 04, 2013

She will, won't she?

She would try to stop you
from touching her face
She would threaten
to leave just once
and then she would, in grace

She would let you say things
but doubt if you mean it
And if you did
she always hid
that she'd really seen it

She always knew, more than you
how much you thought of you two
She knew her limits,
she knew your powers,
and knew of the future too. 

And then she took on a plane and left
and promised to come with an answer
and you waited
breath abated
on jumpy toes of a dancer. 

Saturday, February 09, 2013

Animals at it

British, bow-tied
birds do it,
bees do it.
Even educated
fleas do it.

Soft and suave
snakes do it,
shrimps do it.
Proper party-going
chimps do it.

Center-parted
cats do it,
crocs do it.
Rich, reputable
frogs do it.

Gloriously gentle
swans do it,
hen do it.
And then the shrieking, cursing
men do it.

Wednesday, February 06, 2013

Love at first night

Who have I got
to sit and talk shit?
None worth a shot
but I'll find my fit.

What have I got
to make me smug so?
Eyes and food and thought
and work to lug for.

When have I got
what I wanted square and straight?
Never but even for naught
it'll have been a good debate.

Where have I got
my ace hidden away?
Same as my golden pot,
I call it Near Future, pray.

Why have I got
my scars framed on the wall?
It's a map of my mind,
my kingdom of rise and fall.

Stop with the questions already
Let's just get climbing and scratching.
I'll be heady, you keep me steady
and let's get grinding and hatching.

Friday, December 07, 2012

I miss you, kgp



I hated people who would gather friends around and say shit like, "These are the best days of my life." I found that statement rather depressing. I thought life was long, things would happen, love would be found. I waited for times more exciting than sitting around in a room, not knowing how to spend waking hours. I can safely say I was wrong.

Sitting around alone in a room, whiling away time, I miss it.

Walking about the corridor lost in my head, jumping over water pools in the rain, surprised at the occasional water droplet in my eye. I miss it.

Catwalk, I miss you.

Patel's manhood, I fancied looking at you until I heard what they called you. I still fancied you, but only secretly.

Trees outside my window hiding me from the juniors in D-block, I miss you.

Stupid juniors, revering me like I'm Jesus, I wish you more brains.

The tennis court, I loved looking at you when it was raining. Just spelling it out, I'm sure you noticed me.

People on 2.2 saying Hi to me, I must've often seemed indifferent but just know I miss you too, if that soothes anything.

Scholsave. The Scholars' Avenue. You, saviour, you. What would I have done without you. Thanks for giving me my idols.

My hardwood bed, the missing spider, dear fornicating lizards, do you miss me too? Especially you, bed, who've you been sleeping with?

The wind. Oh Kgp wind, have there been more lovers like me? Do the trees speak to you like they did when I was there? Do you two whistle and creak still? Did you hear the story about the queer one?

Rain, you spoilt me. You might like to know I never opened my arms to anyone else like that again. I never slid and jumped in puddles again. I haven't stood on a car roof since. I never loved one of you again, never let myself fall ill and get hospitalised so I could stand in some more rain. I'm sorry I've been away, and I miss you terribly.

I miss my neighbour, the caring nanny who used to live next door. Thanks for saving my life one time.

I miss heartbreak. The sophomore who got hit in the nose by a senior. Funny, to think of it now.

I miss my flute.

I miss Patel's tempo shout. I miss the common room. I miss being the boss, the few times they let me be one.

What? No, I don't miss my Department. Sorry. Go away.

I'm doing well in my life, you know. I'm busy beyond capacity doing work that takes all of my creativity, and getting paid boatloads without even asking for it. This is the part where I do something with my life. And I'm doing it, bitch. But I miss things.

I miss aimlessness. I miss lying on the bed arranging shit in my head turning insights into one-liners, with Pink Floyd lulling me to sleep. I miss my speakers hanging from top of the window sill, those things filling my room and my being.

I miss random songs playing somewhere afar, in someone's room perhaps. I discovered Latika's Theme like that, and it ruined it a bit to finally know the nameless song I'd fallen in love with.

I still have my flute. It's still broken. It's just not mine. Like it never was.

I miss the 2.2 like hell. I miss the loneliness we shared. No matter how hard you're messed up in your head, a couple 2.2s can always set it right.

I miss a gazillion things, but what I miss the most are two.

I miss Bish, and I miss you, Kgp.

I took my time, but I miss you just fine.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

The Bhabhi Manifesto

We are the Bhabhis. And we're here to take over the world, home by home, street by street, mother-in-law by mother-in-law. There is no escape. You are surrounded by us, and the only way to pacify a bhabhi is an unused credit card. We are in your homes, in your living rooms, in your television sets. We are in your hot cornflakes and breakfast cereal, in your popcorn-flicks and dinner serials, we are the Dhumtana in Kasauti, we are the jewellery in Kahani Ghar Ghar, we are the 20 year jump in Kyunki, WE ARE THE B IN BALAJI.

We are in the street haggling the sabziwala, we're in your lane straightening up your rowdy kids, we're in the market destroying the shopkeeper's dying self-respect, we're in Beautina giving due respect to our bountiful beauty. We are on the park bench discussing Obama and how he loves his wife, we're reading up Sachchi Kahaniyan and we know all the ways men cheat.

Wake up, my fellow Bhabhis. Wake up and make some breakfast and pack the kids' lunch. Wake up and wake your husbands so they can go to their little offices and pretend to be useful. Wake up and run the world. Wake up and gossip. Wake up the driver and go shopping.

You're a Bhabhi, girl, in the Bhabhi World. Come come Bhabhi, lets go Kitty Party.

Wake up, and haven't you heard? There's a sale in Lifestyle! Bhaag Bhabhi Bhaag!