Friday, September 21, 2018


The waves crashing at shores.
The roar of hungry ocean,
consuming the remains of the day greedily.
The ferries anchored,
owners back to their nests.
Just like the sea-gulls
huddling in colonies.
The air-balloon descending,
hysteria lowering each minute.
You pull me close and hug me tight.
The ocean exhales energy.
Cold waves wash everything afresh,
dissolving the litter of yesterday.
Sea-gulls squawk in distance
readying for the flight.
Ferries rock gently,
setting momentum for the day.
A hot air-balloon rises,
hysteria growing each minute.
You hug me tight
as you leave for work.
A buoyant hug.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 word challenge : wash

Linking with Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers - 183rd

Thursday, September 20, 2018


It was early.
Even for day-break.
But since you had to leave
for a business trip,
we woke up way before dawn.
I headed straight to the kitchen.
Luke warm water
with generous dollop of honey.
Your morning ritual.
Springs you right in action.
You skipped the tea today.
With deft hands,
sure and confident,
you readied yourself.
Had a silent scanty breakfast
and left.
I looked around at the empty room,
and breathed your presence.
In the registers you worked late.
In the uncapped pan you wrote with.
In the hand towel carelessly hung at the bed-head.
But mostly in the creases of the bedsheet.
I traced the contours,
the remnants of the night
and I guess I blushed.
Then without setting them straight,
I lied down on the unmade bed
and embraced the wrinkles.
And it was like you never left.

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Heart in charge

With the heart in charge,
we descend deep. Labyrinth.
All reason bent since.

Monday, September 17, 2018

Here and now

Hoarding up,
stacking up the moments
in a cask
sealed with a Harrison nine-lever lock,
safeguarding and saving them
for an opportune moment.
But what if that moment never arrives?
What if all that we are given
is here and now?
When will we open the casket?
Will the treasures inside stay?
Or will they wither and wilt?
The remnants decaying and rotting;
Ruins of the days gone past
mocking us
for the right time.
“Now” is the miracle.
“Now” is the secret.
“Now” is all that you are given.
So why hoard?
Why save for an un-guaranteed “then”?

Thursday, September 6, 2018

Nescafe shaker

Today, my good old
Nescafe shaker died.
It was just 16.
My 16 year old shaker
died today.
From fatal injuries.
A crack at bottom,
and a crack in lid.
Both ill-fated.
Ah! If only,
the concept of bandage
worked for shakers.
May be not all shakers.
But for this one at least.
I would have bandaged
and nursed its wounds.
Antiseptics too
lest some infection developed.
Proteins for recovery.
Just like it made one for me.
Every morning.
I still remember the day
ma gave it to me.
For the sheer versatility it offered.
Sweetened shakes. Spiced buttermilk (Punjabi style). Lemonades.
Young in taste. Motherly in serving.
And I had evolved before it.
It had taught me to swirl.
To that “nescafe shake shake shake,
I wanna make make make”
It had born my change of tastes too. Silently.
Served me sincerely. Till yesterday.
And then it fell.
And breathed its last.
It is survived only by the stirrer attachment.
Rest in peace, my good old friend.
It is from you that I have drawn my strength.
Nutritionally speaking.
P. S. The new shaker does not have that familiar warmth.
Nor that stirrer attachment.
If you understand what I mean.