Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Gone.

I had an itch in my shoe.
I have gypsied over to Horn OK Please.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Step on my technicolour feet if you have to.
Look through me; I'm not a spider web.
All I want is the night and the sea.
All I want is the animated discussion of a thousand trees.






Saturday, June 14, 2008
























( Drawn sitting in Class ID when we had to go there to babysit the talibans who after realising it was a snake I was drawing hastened to enlighten me with snake trivia )

In the silence of the night,
The trees held their breath.
The moon was crescent.
The snakes aplenty.
Writhing, excited.

Little Madeleine walked in a daze
Mesmerised, in awe.
Little Madeleine shivered in anticipation
As she surveyed the sight in front of her
With bated breath.

There gleaming a shade more sinister
Than the moonlit water
Sat among rocks, snakes and silhouettes of leaves
The most beautiful thing she ever saw.
Shimmering, slithering.
Magnetic, devastating.
Chand ki rani.
Belle de nuit.

Little Madeleine squirmed.
As fevered fingers traced
The ups and downs of her face.
Little Madeleine wished
She had listened to Mommy
As a forked tongue explored her.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

I’m suffering.
Intensely.
I’m intensely suffering.
If ‘intense’ is the word I want.
I’m suffering in earnest?
I’m…suffering so badly it would make you weak at the knees if I told you about it?
My suffering is poetic? It’s unbearable? It’s overwhelming. It’s unadulterated.
I’m suffering…unbearably? No.
I’m suffering intensely.

And in my intense, poetic, unadulterated, unbearable, overwhelming suffering, I turn a page to look for a solution to a Math problem, expecting a few lines covering the important points in a simple, effective way, and find a caption to each solution that does nothing to soothe the nerves.
‘A nice question.’
‘Not a difficult problem.’
‘A simple, but tricky question.’
‘A difficult unfamiliar question.’
‘An unfamiliar but manageable question.’
‘A school level question.’
‘A reasonable question.’


Tcha.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

In another life, Bob the mosquito was idly flying, practicing an odd pirouette.
He settled on a curtain and contemplated the mysteries of life.
He thought about the weather.
He fluttered his wings, nettled about not being able to have flown to the O2 Arena to see Led Zeppelin.
He tried looking peeved, but failed badly.
He sighed.

A lady in a khaftan stiffened. She signaled to the man in the lungi.
With practiced, fluid, cat-like movements, she padded towards the curtain and stood still.
Bob’s death wasn’t messy.


I woke up last night and heard my mum and dad discussing mosquito-swatting tactics.
They didn’t take the news about my early retirement too well.

Saturday, January 5, 2008

The Universe has a corny sense of humour.
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt peaceful about scoring out an answer you thought was wrong and writing down the correct one instead.
Whatever little nagging doubt I had about writing it down seemed to melt away as my pen touched the paper and formed a ‘1’ after carefully drawing a line across ‘2’.
I felt content. I even managed a grin at my neighbour who regarded me impassively.

Well, it turned about to be wrong.
What’s more, the answer I scored out turned out to be right.
I ask you.

In other news, my future looks bleak.
I’ve got four months of exams to look forward to.

Friday, November 30, 2007

All That You Can't Leave Behind

There was a time when we talked in hushed tones about the summer when we’d finally be free . The only summer when we wouldn’t have to groan about going back to school. We longed for it. Itched and craved.
There was a time when we made SuperSexaySimblyBrilliantThingsToDo lists, looked at it hungrily and handled it with trembling hands.
And a time when we counted the

months left for school to end.
The twinge of misery about leaving school and the colour-colour benches and everything that we grew up with lay forgotten.
That little twinge of misery has decided to make itself conspicuous and hit me with the force of a lorry.
It hurt, yes.
I moaned and whined and whimpered and sighed mournfully and went around looking like a deflated balloon swaying to dismal violin strains.
Because school is home.
School got us all together and gave us all that fuzzy sense of belonging.
School made us all frands despite our differences that stick out like a sore thumb.
And without it, I’d feel a little like Mary minus her little lamb.




(bubblewrap,yes)

Excuse me while I go sob uncontrollably on someone’s shoulder.