Saturday, January 22, 2011

Love You, Daddy

You scooped that sharp edge,cupping it with your hands, of the garden bench…

So that, I, Your little one, don’t ever hurt my head…

You soothed away fears, when I dreamt of spirits with a transfigured face…

Clawed-toothed-big-nailed monsters clambering over my imagination’s infinite space…

You made me walk in the dark, so that I’m never mortified by it again,

for you always said, ’’Do the thing you fear the most, and the death of fear is certain…’’

You made me climb and touch the peak of the children’s park Rocket-tree,

To drive away the acrophobia that was creeping in me…

You taught me to ride a bicycle, and made me soar down the hilly-slope of the one-way street…

You taught me to swim in those sweet-green springs of Indrali with those harmless green water-snakes cutting water so neat..

We sat and sang our way

By the green margin of a stream

Watching fishes leap and play

Beneath the glad sun-beam…

Our family moped rides, me seated front, with the speedy thrill, wind against my face…

You trusted in me and let me accelerate (once in a while) to teach me the safe-set pace…

Despite revolts, rebellions,adolescent crisis, heart-felt deceptions or Math’s paralyzing fears or rocky financial crunches, you always put me in the best of schools, got me the best of books….

Your steady baritone voice...

treks,treasure-hunts,morning-moped jogs, long beaches, soulful talks…

You just always know what I mean,

Even before I speak ….

You always read well ‘’in-between’’…

Your strength, your integrity, your endurance to deal with life’s nitty-gritty’s

Your wisdom, a guiding force, has taught me to balance my priorities, to never sherk my responsibilities…

For you always said, ‘’When the going gets tough, it’s only the tough who get going’’….

Forgetful of the highways rough…

Forgetful of the thorny scourge…

Forgetful of the tossing surge…

Of off-beaten career chosen or of linguistic choices affirmation,

You stood by me and said, ‘’Do the thing you love the most and love the most the thing you do..’’

My heart is as a freeborn bird

That flutters, flutters evermore…

My soul is as a hidden found, shut in by clamming clay struggling striving to force its way…

Up through the turf, over the grass, up, up in to the day, when twilight no more turneth grey…

Life’s full of numbness and of balk, of haltingness and baffled short-comings, of promises unfulfilled, of everything, that is puffed vanity and empty talk, wide vacuity of hope and heart…

But beyond the seas, we know stretch the seas unknown

Beyond lands we see, stretch lands unseen

We live in wearied hope, we die in hope not dead, we run a race…

Today, and find no present halting-place…

When I was young I deemed that sweets are sweet

But now I deem some searching bitters are sweeter than sweets,

And more refreshing far, and to be relished more, and more desired and more to be pursued on eager feet –

on feet untiring my every marching fleet…

You taught me that a bird must leave the nest and fly

That in time, I would leave and soar towards the sky

It is your love and guidance that reinforces my wings

You lift me before I soar towards life’s greatest things

There’s a special bond

That’s meant for you alone

There’s a special place in my heart

That ‘’you, my Daddy Dearest, alone can own..!!’’

Monday, December 13, 2010


PMS, Emotions, Hormones

Ticking bio-clocks

Unsettling menopause

We hone different hats

We come with different skill-sets

We juggle, we multitask

Cook, wife,mother,daughter,friend,chauffeur,referee,judge,house-keeper,primary grocery getter, laundry cleaner, pet –feeder…

Unsabaticaled, un re’’tiring’’ unaccounted for the myriad unpaid thankless jobs..!

Eyebrows threaded

Nose-hair tweezed

One by one done and hachooo goes the sneeze

Pimples plucked and black-heads squeezed

Arms, legs, woefully waxed clean

Hair – colored, streaked, bonded, straightened, ironed, curled, lengthened, and shortened

As goes the whims of the ‘’In-fashion’’ season…!

Anti-wrinkled, age-defying, cellulite-spot reduction, bleaches and creams

Feminine tunic patterns, lurid shades, palette – lip-eye-nail

Fake lashes, nails, fairness face paints

Formulations, foundations, compacts, blush, lipsticks, liners

Stilettos, wedges, strappy sandals, red killer dresses, tummy-tucks, facelifts, Botox = constant touchups

Shimmery shiny lip gloss, followed by a constant reminder to brush and floss…

The lingerie collection should be intriguing, ‘’enamor’’ing…

Laces, frills, stripes, spots to keep you guessing…

We have to accentuate and accessorize to spruce up the spark, to keep the fire burning …

Art of being subtly suggestive without being explicitly excessive

Just the right neck-plunge-line to let your imagination run wild and to not showcase a ''straight in nose-dive''..

No delightful brownies or the sinful choco-chip cookies

No midnight munches

Just a zero-carb diet and a 100 odd crunches..

What not for those enviable curves, that hour-glass figure, ‘’damn’’ how easily do we pile on those extra unwanted inches??

We come in all creeds, all colors…

You tell us ‘’you are pretty’’ and we swear ‘’we aren’t’’

But you dare to agree and poof goes your chances Honey

‘’Do I look fat in this’’ is just a rhetorical question never meant to be answered in affirmative!

We could plague you, vex you, distract you, perplex you, unsettle you, change you, ‘’altar’’ you…

We most times have spiky hair for we ‘’shave’’ our legs…

or don't have any public corner stone or ''against the tree-wall pee-spot territory''..

But we can empty your wallets, justify any shopping spree without ever feeling guilty!

We don’t drive in circles at any cost and have no problem admitting when we are truly lost…

We don’t watch movies with incessant bombardments and lots of gore..

We may cry for no ‘’apparent’’ reason but we certainly don’t need instant ‘’Replay’’ to remember the score..!

Dear Men, Flowers are okay but jewels are best…

And we would sincerely appreciate if you spoke to our faces rather than our breasts..!

You could like us in rain or in sunshine

After a peg of whisky or a heady wine

We could just simply ignore you or could just let you pine!

We come in all shapes and sizes =narrow-broad-wide

Button-nosed or almond eyed





A right blend of coyness and extroversion, of adventure and caution

In shorts, skirts, sexy, perky or clad in saree blushingly coy

Well-bred or uncommon…

But we are more than skin

More than color

More than pounds of flesh designated as ‘’ASSets’’...

Here we come Dear Men, our mission to woo men

Albeit being humble Mortals , Treat us right with respect for we are women with ''substance''…!

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

The Tinge...

The Tinge…

The first rain on the parched earth,
A tinge of aroma of the first wet mud.
Schools cancelled, roads mud-puddled
Collars-pockets of shirts ruffled
Crisply ironed pleated skirts side-turned, shuffled.
A tinge of joy - a child’s giggle - as we break through those wrought-iron imprisoning gates all at once like a chorus jingle.
A tinge of fear as we broke that cursed vintage window…
What a pleasurable tinge it was to put a finger on the just made hot apple-pie kept for cooling on the shadowed kitchen corridor..!
A tinge of fantasy as I lie watching the clouds transmutating to different forms,
Goofing it all up yet laughing out loud as we mess up the first ever session of a ballroom dance….!
Ravished eyes
Behold such charms
One tender sigh
From the golden girl
And all men stand enchanted and disarmed!
It’s a tinge to watch a budding flower
To steady a flickering flame
To spruce up a sprouting seed
Or to feel the tingle of an ant crawling on my feet.
It’s a tinge to inhale those petrol-kerosene-gasoline fumes of the vehicular exhaust pipes
Like it’s a tinge to stand up and speak out in a jeering crowd all alone with ‘’your own voice booming out’’ loud.
It’s a tinge to see the meaded honey drip out of the honey comb
To see the ale from malt
To pinch the leaves, crush ginger for a spicier tea
To gather those bunched up grapes for a heady wine
To brew the coffee beans for that mug of filter coffee
As one draws ale from rye or barley…
It’s a tinge feeling when your flight is just to land or about to take off.
It’s a tinge when that perfect dress that you’ve set your eyes upon stays on that window pane till the last day of sale, the day you get your pay cheque….
It’s a tinge when the price tag on your new dress tickles your back or kisses your neck…
It’s a tinge when the sun comes out, dissipates darkness, ushers in light
It’s a tinge of wonder when through the rain, the rainbow shines, as the line of birds on the tiled roof resume their flight…
It’s a tinge of that swing in your step as you watch a handsome young man sipping his coffee, sitting cross-legged
It’s a tinge to ride the bike down the slope with the gushing wind across your face numbing your tiny nose…
It’s a tinge to trek atop a mountain or dive in to the deep Italian Mediterranean…
It’s a tinge of anti-gravity push on the Singaporean G-force ride, like it’s the tinge of seeing swarming schools of fishes on coral coastal side…
It’s a tinge to lick off your hands the pulp of a juicy ripe mango,
It’s a tinge to stone those tamarinds sour – relish its ‘’tango’’
It’s a tinge of anticipation just before la douche pours over me its first cold sprinkle
It’s a tinge wearing the just ironed warm clothes after the cold shower.
It’s a tinge to smell the oil-bathed, freshly Johnson and Johnson’s powdered baby’s fragrance
It’s a tinge to watch the reddening of the baby’s cheek under the scorching sun…
It’s a tinge to perhaps feel the baby’s mouth suckling at his mother’s breasts
It’s a tinge to hear incessantly the roaring of sea-waves…
It’s a tinge of thrill hanging out on the Mumbai local trains or jumping on the footboard of the double-deckers or jay crossing trespassing the ‘’yet to turn green’’ signal…
It’s a tinge of going around in those revolving doors or wet your feet in someone else’s fountain park…
It’s a tinge of relief after peeing hot pee in your neighbors garden orchid pot..!!
It’s a tinge to smell the incense sticks or hear those chiming bells to be blessed with turmeric-tulsi-ashes-a kernel coconut
It’s a tinge of pleasure to dig one’s ear with a titillating ear-bud
It’s a tinge to feel the cold marble stoned floor of the temples like it’s a tinge to listen to the chants of the Rudra-Japa-Gayatri Mantra…
It’s a tinge watching the Wagah border military parade or the final run to be scored by India in an Indo-Pak cricket match, like its an untiring tinge to every Indian listening to our National Anthem with utmost respect and absolute attention…
It’s a tinge enthralled by the divinity of the illuminating candles in the church.
It’s a tinge seeing a hundred heads bow in prayer in unison to ‘’Allah’’ in a moment of respectful reverence.
It’s a tinge feeling having poky hair despite enduring those painful wax sessions

Words combining with thoughts - lost within knowing
Simplicity - liberation found.
It’s a tinge the smell of a new book or the early morning’s newspaper print.
It’s a tinge finding old Ferrero Rochers wrappers tucked and forgotten until this very moment in some old book…
It’s a tinge watching the lovers meet, reunite rekindle only to be distanced again, romancing at train stations as the flags wave down, the whistles blow, the train inches forward with the green signal ‘’Go’’…
A tinge of sorrow while listening to Amadeus Mozart’s Requiem
A tinge of nostalgia while walking along the streets of Paris
Yellow, red, golden falling leaves of tree barren autumns
A tinge of musical strings, of chords played, of swerving swooning dances orchestrated, performed, appreciated, applauded.
A tinge of victory…a tinge of laughter of familiar voices
A tinge of the golden light through the dews on the grass…holes on the walls…imperfections in our paths…
A tinge of peace to see a shawl draped sleeping child….squares of colors, empty doorways, sketching portraits, oil-painting a landscape…
A tinge of feminity, clinging of those glass bangles, resounding anklets with the on-going festivity…
A tinge to see the trail of red sindoor on her fore-head.
A tinge of shyness when he steals a glance at her, like when the cold mehendi on your hands gives you a tinge wanting to itch your back…
It’s a tinge when you whiff the roasted cashews and almonds in ghee or the piping aroma of the cinnamon tea
It’s a tinge of something existing as a memory or are they just treasures hidden in the next moment ‘’soon to pass’’ fleeting seconds?
It’s a tinge of misty greens, of warm-baked-butter-choco-chip cookies
It’s a tinge of mind moving patterns on that ceiling fan, drifting me to a hypnotic deep slumber when I’m in despair..
Wind blown pages
Blue-inked words
Note-pad smudged..
Pages curl..
Textured with dust
Would the spark be kindled? Rekindled?
A hint?
A pinch?
A touch?
A tone?
Or just no hopes?
A tinge when something comes to an end
As the orange fiery sun dips in to the blue ocean
Knit one
Pearl two
Like the costume-clown almost through
That piercing glint
That endearing stint
Wafts away in the wind like my Elizabeth Ardour perfume – innocent- free-sweet
The wishful dream sweeping me off my feet …
Like the rising sun
The setting moon
Trees in flame
Drenched in rain
Dawn’s light
In diffused delight
With a tinge of attraction
With a tinge of repulsion
With a tinge of craving
With a tinge of aversion
With a tinge of love
With a tinge of anguish
With a tinge of hopeful hopelessness
With a tinge of hope against hope…
Here I’m
But sooner or later, the nicer ‘’me’’ may resume…