Thursday, February 12, 2009


Your tongue invites;
a drop of red ketchup
languishing on your lips.

The wheat bread relents
with a murmuring sigh.

Eyes closed;
you bite off a mouthful
of my qi, with barbecued paneer.

A tiny crumb sticks
to your little finger.

Chewing food;
meditating, mediating, meandering
hunger satiated,

hunger stroked.

Thursday, February 05, 2009


A gate of rusted iron rods, held barely ajar, lets through an endless stream of people. People from outside, coming in. People from inside, going out. I, waiting for the flow to cease from one direction, invite rebukes from the crowd behind me to keep on moving. Move, like the hundreds who cross that door everyday, with or without purpose, with or without hope. I am one of the lucky ones today - I still have some hope left. He walks out, enveloped in a vacuum I leave in my wake, amidst the crowd.


6:15 am. I wake up to an urgency I seldom hear in her voice. "Where are the Sorbitrate tablets?" "I am fine." I kneel on the cold floor beside him, cradling his head in my palm, as his retching body stiffens and relaxes in turn. Suddenly the rest of my life seems a complete waste. My purpose for existence seems defeated. After what seems like eternity, I help him get up and get to the bed.

6:30 am. After the silent cold settles back in the air, I have an overpowering urge to make love to her. An attempt to snatch her from memories leaves me filled with a harrowing emptiness. I stand still outside their bedroom and look at him for a long time. His silhouette expands and contracts to the slow rhythm of his breathing. I feel grateful for the little things in my life that are certainly true at this moment.


Turbulence. A handful of questions I cannot bear to hear the answers to leaves me with icky doubt that clings to the lines etched on my palms. I feel small. Soon, I will not be enough. I am preparing to drown. Just like he did.