Secluded here in my room I think of you.

Stepping aside my worries a while,

I have come to you.

I won’t bother you much, worry not:

And this cuppa hot tea is just an ally to the drizzle outside.


I must say this in the very beginning: I’ve come to you

Knowing not, where else to go.

I have come to say, that I always felt:

Hidden amid the words you speak,

Faintly laid, are the connecting dots to a hidden puzzle.

Puzzle which I could (may be, ought to) solve;

Puzzle which would lead me back to the treasure trove.

I always regained a missing part of myself:

When you spoke, I listened, and the world would just stop.

Guess the treasure trove, in real, was all about that.


Remember, we spoke and laughed for long hours?

Gossiped, all along, as if we were the only true people:

And all others vanquished in vain.

All hues of joy would then slyly enfold us and,

Conspire with the time passing by, to make it irrelevant.

Roughly, it was a game of hide-and-seek every time,

You would always hide something curious, priceless.

I would always go beyond what I knew.

To get what I never had before.


Things fall apart: not all things are true,                                         

You fade away and my cup of tea goes empty.

Sky clears itself and it no longer rains.


Three beasts and a flower

Three beasts roamed a jungle one night,

While moon gleamed up in sky, full and bright.


It was supposed to be an eclipse, that day,

Moon was thus to be inched to dark and dismay.


Darkness began to shroud the jungle soon,

As scary dark sipped milky light, off the moon.


Poor beasts were the one to get scared,

As they were told demons that day went flared.


They ran around for a tree: shelter to find some,

And found a found an orchid, all calm and mum.


Astonished they asked, eclipse it is today,

Demons disguised in dark, moon they slay.


Flower smiled to say:

I and you make a part of Earth’s shadow on moon,

Making an eclipse and it fades away, so very soon.


And then there were four more happy gazers at moon.



P. S: i don’t know what you call it, but some call it a ‘paradigm shift’ (a more serious definition, far from what i meant is here). You think in  a direction and an incident/talk/glimpse/or your own idea makes you to think in a whole new way. The whole perception changes.

A metaphorical try. Do you have any paradigm shifts to share?

turning 21!

Here I dwell playing with my crayons:

Scribbling wall, colouring my fantasies.

I let here out my neat paper boat:

Thinking it`ll bring back the kite that flew out.

May be I should grow up.


I litter my room of thoughts; with thoughts.

I dwell in envy for not having a doll of simplicity.

I still hurt my hand with that garden trowel:

See this wound; this was when I last sowed a thought.

Yes, I need to grow up.


I’m short, need to heighten my perception.

I’m frail, need to strengthen my patience.

I leap around, forgetting home I must go,

Cross roads boggle me, don`t know where to go.

God, please help me grow up.


Yet, I like sending boats, scribbling walls,

Playing soil, getting hurt and losing my kites.

May be I need a real tooth of wisdom,

Only then will i be able to solve the perplex:

Do I need to grow up?



P. S.: random, perplexed thoughts on turning 21. They say, once you stumble the age of 21, you`re grown up. But i don`t understand what being grown up is. This bothers more than my peeking wisdom tooth. May be you could help me:]

Doctor’s diary

20 days ago:

I’m back from a talk.

A workshop from a renowned modern guru,

A training, named ‘celebrating  life’.

He says, ‘Happiness is eternal; day in, day out’.

Says life is festival: a gala.

He made laugh, shout, group and jump:

For all those fun-filled activities

Was my nth workshop: a jovial one though.

I learnt everything, but to be happy: to celebrate.


10 days ago:

Heavy day in hospital.

Town is shrouded of black clouds: cholera.

People pouring in, lack of beds: a slush.

Vomits, stink of stool, cry of children.

Even attended a bride burning case.

Crumpled body, blackened of fire and peeling skin.

I even burnt my index finger removing her golden (?!) bangles.

Why on earth was I a doctor?

Yes I do remember the hell workshop: to celebrate:

Life’s a gala, a gala only of diseased and unfortunate.



She is recovering, shifted to general ward off ICU.

She’s good in person; I talk to her during check up.

She said today, ‘doctor, these are my best days’,

Said,’ I’m happy. It’s not suffocating here. You’re lucky’.

I stared and stared those eyes without eye lashes or brows.

I felt like I was in shade of Buddha’s tree of enlightenment.

May be the workshop guy was right, when he said life’s a gala,

Also the analogy of the man being unhappy for not having shoes.

I’ happy, i determine to celebrate life and I’m destined to.


P.S.: A dialogue in twilight goes like: “Death is peaceful, easy. Life harder’. Is life really worth celebrating amid all misery? Einstein comes to our rescue saying,”Out of clutter, find simplicity. From discord, find harmony. In middle of difficulty, lies opportunity.’ Yes, we really can’t determine to be happy – like the foolish doc – yet make our part to be happy and others too. Agree. . .?

she makes it so easy to live

I say I’m wrong.

She says, so what.

She knows I’m not always right.

Yet she pats and says wake up!

I say I’ll go.

She grins to say, let’s go.

She makes it so easy to live.


When I’m puzzled in a whirl,

She says, I’m there and crumples her brows.

She draws a shovelful of raw bliss,

And sows fruits of soaked peace.

i don’t know why she winks.

Neither do I why she giggles.

She makes it so easy to live.


She is a conundrum for a lifetime.

Think, she was crystallised of an unsung puzzle.

She wears alacrity as her earrings.

Ah, what jewel more she needs than her laugh.

I unfurl her thoughts when I’m free.

She isn’t far: hidden somewhere within me.

She makes it so easy to live.

Letter from the cow

Dear human, I’m the cow.
I really do not understand your language.
You say, you have supple smooth skin:
While i’ve durable tough hide.
You say, you eat different cuisines,
While I always eat dry fodder.
Why is that you call that curved iron piece
Nailed under my hooves as a ‘horse shoe’?
And finally, i still remember you saying,
That, I hold millions of gods within me:
That, am a supreme symbol of purity and holiness.
Yet, you left me all alone here;
Here, in this scary dark slaughter house.