Declogging : The Art of Exaggeration, Drama and Tackling Tea Aunties

Ahem, so picture an evening when your neighbour Tea Auntie-ji (a gibber term I had to coin for neighbour homies wanting tea every time they visit) comes over to your place and you, like a decent host, welcome her to a cup of tea and marie(now digestive) biscuits. After slurping on the first few sips, she pretty much gobbles much of marie and tea and tea and marie in between her gossips and wide-eyed reactions to Mrs. Mehta’s niece’s successful marital bliss and honeymoon destinations. Her evening rendezvous ends with your mother saying “Aate hain hum jaldi hi”(we shall be seeing you soon) and the pleasantries, last minute steals of updates follow where the lesser significant neighbours are discussed quickly because how could they be left out of the rendezvous syllabus. Amongst these moments are 7 particularly specific seconds when Auntie-ji offers to wash the china she drank her tea/marie concoction in. Under obvious social obligations, you refuse her “genuine” interest to get wet with Vim drips while battling Mum’s red, spectrum eyes which command you to sink with shame. But what do you do when she asks for the twentieth time in the six point fifth second ? You snatch away the not-so precious china(‘cos who are we kidding) and shield it from Auntie-ji, asking her to go home and do her own dishes, all a frenzy of exaggerated reaction only to communicate to her that she, being a guest, holds the place of God and cannot possibly be allowed to wash dirty china, figuratively. 

To your relief and the crumbling china’s, she gives in, blesses you and returns to her evening of neighbourhood hopping.

Whoever accused us of exaggeration and drama must not have lived in Geeta Auntie’s colony. 

I rest my case.



I have forgotten the lines on your face
I have asked you, “How have you been?”, a lesser number of times these gone years.
I have been preoccupied.
And I have forgotten,
How wonderful it was to be cuddled by you,
To make dinner an exercise
Because veggies wanted me to go run,
And come back to them.
That’s how you made nutrition my fun game.

You are my old man now , and a bit hazy
Functional to the toe,
Not a bone which is lazy.
But you look like you have crossed over time
To a place of innocence.
A place wherein I look at you
And feel a cross section of emotions
Mostly of wanting to throw a fit of refusing egg plants.

Uncle, if you hear me, know that there is a heart here
That thinks of you in the sparks of daylight and sometimes, late at night.
That remembers the scooter and the crisp hair
Ricky Martin and snoring snares.
That remembers you with all heart,
And this heart, remembers you with all love.

Love Story

In the humdrum of brisk living,
And the badgering of diversions
From unbeknownst sources
Of betraying knowledge,
I want to carve out time,
Time to think about You.

In the felt clutches of emotions,
Residues of desperation
Lead me to your thoughts,
Which once were you
But now are all of me.

Like alloys of heart and mind,
Ripples of water and snow,
Functions of alpha and gamma,
Our hooves are resting
Nowhere close to ground.

Time alone binds us
And the only release is it.
For to measure your love
My darling,
This lifetime is too cheap.

Gazing at highlands of tomorrow
Caressing the carvings of today
I push the world to a mute
Chasing the melody of your footsteps.

Longing and belonging
Somewhere in the cracks of your heart,
I dare and I dream
About marshmallow coffees all my life.

Many paces covered,
Many more ahead.
From where I stand
My feet seem equipped.
And I walk to reality,
A kind of a story
That’s one of it’s kind.
A love story in it’s own right.

In my still eyes..

In my still eyes
Are blurry kodaks of a young child,
In my still eyes
Are long lost friendships and lullabies.
In my still eyes
Are my grand mother’s hands,
In my still eyes
Her salt & pepper head, reflecting a dozen lights.

In my still eyes
Are the swallowed instances of pride,
In my still eyes
Are unfulfilled words of spite.
In my still eyes
Are the dreams that once were me,
In my still eyes
Is all I could ever be.

In my still eyes
Are memories of dismay
In my still eyes
Are footprints of kindness.
In my still eyes
Are the regrets of a past
In my still eyes
Are faces of the future.
In my still eyes
Are fears of solitude
In my still eyes
Are hopes
For a house in the woods.

In my still eyes
Are melodies to unwritten songs.
In my still eyes
Are lilies of milk and wine.
In my still eyes
Are stacks of untouched hay.
In my still eyes
Are flowing whites and some grey.
In my still eyes
Her eyes search mine,
In my still eyes
She still shines bright.

I’m just a passer by

I’m just a passer by
Through lanes of malady
Through chains of solitude.

Stop to hold the world
Better in my eyes
Small vibrations beneath the wall.
They would stumble
I could fall.

Interpretations of a sonic mind
Never at rest
Grows fond of the singular sofa
Kills what could be dead.

Larger in reflection
Easier to forget
Scars of remembrance,
Pretend to be shackled in words.
Created in a palm,
The water surpassed
Her worthless life’s work.

Vision and wisdom later
They closed where they began
Renewed hopes of wander and love.
I’m just a passer by, I’m just a passer by.


All is one
And one is all
All is hate
And none is love.
So much emotion
But none above the other
There’s ego in passion
And passion in ego.
What you see
Is fancy deception.

Fresh and strong malice
Tossing in my gaze
It burns and drowns into ashes
From ashes it re-awakes.
It’s hating,
In the neon lights.
Lights of smile
Of hope
Of joy
Why, the wonder ?
Such distance
Panic and panorama.

And a third time.
All smells of decay.
Do not know what is dark,
The streets
Or my heart.
And laughing.
Caricatures of sham.
And dicing,
My love for the grim.
Projectiles of pleasure
Run parallel
To the pain.
Across from the light
It stands,
Saved, yet again.

One More Step

One more step
And you’re closer
To life
In a warped form.
You’ll tell them
The stories
Of your glory,
Give them success
To gnaw into.
Even though
There was little celebration inside.

One more step
And you’ll be distant
From this failure
The one which hid another
Alike in it’s sort.
And another one
Claiming success
Yet betrayed profitable thoughts.

One more step from
Under the debris,
Of triumph
Over the unknown.
You are clasped
And released,
Only to be devoured again.

No convincing answers to
What was measured
In those alphabets.
To what did you owe
All the hours away
And into.
Empty promises
Soon filled out the corridor,
Plush rooms,
Filled out with people.
In it, you saw
The furniture of failure.
One more step, you heard.
And you walked.