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Showing posts from 2008

On a pair of boots found lying in my kitchen

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Perchance they have walked in from misty curtains of rain, From tea plantations or cherry orchards. Did they tread on ant lines and dry leaves? Or pause to hear the silence wail from atop a mountain? Surely, they have seen more than cobbled paths and gravel banks? Would they have darted away at the break of a twig To run after a friend or the foaming spray? They may have inched away from an excited dog. They may have tap danced all evening! They may have felt my eyes on them. They may be tired after the cobbler stitched a new soul on But then again, they may have stood all day in fields of asphodel.

Upon Watching a Peepul tree shed its leaves at 7/6 Roop Nagar

The leaves leave the Peepul tree. Baring the branches to the summer heat, the leaves leave. The few that still cling on, seem to fan the trees’ limbs when the wind whisks through . When I ride my bicycle back from college, I can hear the wheels turning in rhythm to a yellow crunch. If you were here, I would first show you the tree from my window. You will have to gaze, like I am doing right now, through the grey wire work , wishing you had blinkers on to block out the dusty water cooler that covers most of the window. You would also perchance yearn for a window sill to rest your elbows on as your eyes ease into that faraway look. In activities such as these(watching leaves fall), it is inevitable that you turn your thoughts inward, and depending on the memories you choose to wade through, you invite either a restful or a restless expression to stroll into the furrows of your face. Then again, you may not be silently thoughtful, you could be speculating aloud about leaves, tre
Sinking, slow sinking, into friendly conversations, into cotton candy,into a cloud,into rhythm. Sinking ,slow sinking into the grass and morning dew,into floral breaths,into silence. Sinking. slow sinking into questions,into hopes,into twangs of the guitar. Sinking. slow sinking into laughter and into the light. (Oh! what fond memories of chasing the cotton candy man with T)

Chapel Lawns

Sitting with my back to a tree, I look at the birds playing hopscotch In the patterns formed by water running out of a hose pipe.

First Impressions Of Brunei

I said “Brunei, The Sultanate of Brunei…” To my surprise, she replied “I am asking you the name of the country.” This time the answer left my lips slowly, and I was careful to enunciate; I also added “It’s in South East Asia. Near the Malaysian states of Sabah and Sarawak”. She nodded disapprovingly when I showed her my visa letter. I sensed soon enough that she had never heard of this country. A phrase I had heard on Discovery channel swam into my head. According to them the island of Borneo is “one of Asia’s best kept secrets”. While I stood there, amused at the immigration officer’s ignorance, I also felt truly blessed to be able to travel to one of the worlds least travelled to destinations. Soon enough the officer returned from a room she had briefly retired to and ushered me on, apologising for the delay. Earlier, Passport and boarding pass in hand, travel magazines under my arm, I had approached the Bangalore International airport wearing a warm smile. Fresh o

The Heart of Borneo

June 22, 2008 That summer day, when I boarded the plane, little did I know that I would be swept off to the surreal landscapes of a fairytale sultanate. Brimming with wanderlust, I was out to explore a land I knew of only as a bounty of black gold ruled by the wor ld’s richest monarch. As I looked out of a bus window the next day, my eyes fell upon the golden domes and vaulting roofs of the Istana (His Majesty’s palace) which were etched against a cloudless summer sky. I was on my way to Bandar Seri Begawan to stroll around the very streets that shall witness a royal parade in a couple of days. The oppressive tropical heat could not becloud the atmosphere of excitement and revelry. Every shop, office, hotel and lamppost was adorned with resplendent banners and national flags. Gold and glittering Before you read any further, let me assure you that this is not a mere reverie that features sultans, palaces and pristine rainforests. This is the nation of Brunei Darussalam

The Three Oddest Words

When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past. When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it. When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no non-being can hold. Wislawa Szymborska (one of my favourite poets! thank you Sid for reading Szymborska to us as we sat with steaming cups of coffee on the mud floor of your home during lit block)

Bird's eye view of the Istana

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Piet Hein

Ambi, thank you for introducing me to Grook's by Piet Hein! http://chat.carleton.ca/~tcstewar/grooks/

Il Pleut

It has been raining for hours now. As I gaze at the only window in the room without curtains, I see myself. Did you think I was dropping a philosophical firework that is going to whizz and sputter through the rest of this post musing about how window panes when raised to a metaphorical plane can reflect the inner me? why ! of course not! All I am asking you to imagine is that its 12.21 am,(palindromic time !) the rain is pouring into the pitch blackness outside. Try as I may, I cannot see the drops of water as the tube light in the room creates a reflection of me and the room on the window pane.