Posted: January 30, 2018 in Uncategorized

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He finishes off her sentences. The ones she leaves hanging in the air.
A comfortable silence ensues and they use the floor space without stepping on each other’s toes.
Words said and unsaid hang around, then drop to the floor silently.
Drapes are pulled aside letting the shimmering grains of sun, slant across into the room.
He picks up the paper, scans the headlines and tosses it on the table. Nothing sustains his interest for long.
She picks up her crocheting, lacing in the knots and crosses, lost in thought.
Two bodies, one house and two minds wrapped up in their own celluloid flashbacks and time spent, counting minutes and then not counting at all.
Days and nights pass on.
The breath that sustains is comforting to each other and a solace as the days go by…
~S

 

Posted: January 13, 2018 in Uncategorized

The closed room, a whirring fan spinning tepid air in a circle first, then into a whirlwind as the hot air rises up from haranguing humans. I am zoning in and out, the mind processing some and letting go few notes which seemed to collide with the solid walls that has boxed us in.

I watch in lazy fascination the boomerang of syllables falling in a pile on the table in front of us. So many words, so many thoughts exploding like projectiles, then gathering on the floor like hailstones, a few feathers here and there among them maybe.

I was taken gently by my thoughts, leading me away from the cacophony; and they opened the windows to that effulgent being who had stoked my imagination, cavorting dangerously with my mind, guiding me on to the path that few may have walked- before me.

Forces beyond me draped them lovingly around me, warming my soul and smiling blithely in its shade. I knew it was transient and as all spells are, they would get wiped out by reality.

Such is the power of a thought; it takes one through the journey, engulfing one in its simplicity and assuring one that matters of the heart are as light as a feather when allowed to settle in, while unsettling the equanimity.

It was the most beautiful feeling- one that can be wished upon the living in all its brilliance. Those too eventually will fall in a heap without diminishing their essence.

They make me smile even when the air is stale and has distanced me from the rest of the people who are there – making a sound that I see but don’t hear.

The room had fallen quiet and I hadn’t noticed.

They were looking at me and waiting for an answer. I don’t seem to have one.

I was re-living my cherished moments in the wrong place, at odd times…

In silence…

Faraway Places

Posted: September 25, 2017 in Uncategorized

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A lone figure silhouetted against the setting sun. She seemed oblivious to changes in time.

The sky changing from burnt sienna to blood red had riveted her attention. It was as if time stood still. Her gaze steady. Her mind averred to who she was and her thoughts miles away in faraway places.

She knew she was alive in the moment, in the lap of nature where she felt most at home.

An observer would have imagined it a figure carved in stone and placed there by a gentle sculptor not knowing she would be so much part of the vista painted on the canvas.

There was an inner peace that settled over her body, mind and soul. She was in a happy place.

Just as the birds in formation flew over her- as if to remind her it was time to go home, she snapped out of her reverie and stood up. Her lithe form bowed gracefully to the beautiful theatre in front of her. Her flowing clothes swished behind her as she walked down the rocky surface barefoot, feeling the earth.

A lone figure who appeared and disappeared with fluidity and ease with no encumbrances in its way.

She was whole!

~S

September Skies

Posted: September 23, 2017 in Uncategorized

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August had just passed and the blooming tree with its myriad birds had turned a shade redder. September rains lashed through the countryside and my favorite pastime seemed watching the aftermath. A cleansing ritual.

The magic of September was yet to be unleashed in all its strength, as I waited in anticipation for the skies to open into an orchestra. Night rains lent the Allegro.

Somewhere the horizon faded into the landscape briefly and before I knew it the crescendo of the sun was played out in full swing.

Enthralled, in amazement I watched as the sky lit into fire. Every cloud burnt in its own embers and every melting wisp of vapor led one to a dance of passion.

Had I known this would be the way I felt, as I stepped in with the trepidation of a child on stage, I would have been prepared. Being swept away in a current of fire and shared symphony was not what I thought I would encounter.

There I was standing – naked in thoughts, engulfed by the sweetest lessons life could ever teach me.

Gratitude would not suffice. Neither will my lips say the words but burn deep into my soul, carving the name, as never touched before- it seemed the best surrender.

‘Become who you are,’ it whispered in my ears gently.

Had I waited any longer death was imminent not to the self but to my spirits. It was destined in the skies that burning out was not the way it would end but lighting the fire to brilliance and watching it in awe. Maybe my love and deep threads of nature reached out to the soul; that saw past it all and wanted a part of it, in its journey

September skies will live on in memories. It was simply ‘meant to be’.

Posted: September 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

End of times as we see it and a new beginning far away in the distant hills, one with nature where nothing gets distorted and everything is as it seems; where love with nature is uncomplicated with unlimited boundaries. No picket fences holding the sublime thoughts.
The stillness in that quietude is in harmony with the distant skies and the sea in its turquoise blue, beckoning the soul. How can I wish upon you those beauteous thoughts that will carry you through your moments in harmony, hoping the gentleness of life holds you in its embrace.
Let there be no more anonymous influence as you find yourself yet again while you wait patiently for tides to crash and retreat. If i could be just that one wave that could crash- engulfing and sweeping you away into a destiny that could be cherished then I would. I would sprinkle stars in your way. But since it is written in the sky that there is no wishing star and that it cannot be expunged as easily I smile and say farewell to those dreams and to you…

~S

Posted: September 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

Nestling, among the cotton fields; their white wispy strands floating around caressing her gentle soul, she lay down to rest- her sun kissed face looking above at the brilliance of a magic spreading eastward; its red streaks leaving their imprints on the sky. It was how they found her the next day at cotton harvesting. The smile hadn’t left her face they said. She was one with the place she sought. Hers was a story she took along with her into the red earth. That is how she wanted it in the end, they said…

~S

Posted: August 30, 2014 in Poetry

In your eyes I see distant skies
swallowing pain and the tempest too,
behold a clinging leaf on your stern
hanging in vain for sunny skies
buds in waiting, sensing a storm
shadowy clouds masking them all
how long does the journey last?
searching you, soothing with words
the quest is over and am laying down
hanging my pen and walking away
in your silence, is my end

A woman at peace and so be it …

~S


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Image  —  Posted: August 29, 2014 in Uncategorized

Posted: August 29, 2014 in Poetry

Wringing out her rainbows
colors dripping on the floor
she mopped and tossed them
back into the river…

Drying out her silken sheets
dreams wafting up to the sun
she folded and wrapped them
in the closets of life…

Chanting aloud wedding vows
leap of faith, in a bed for two
she smiled and embraced
then left him pining…

She sings alone; so they say.

~S

Finished reading Gilliam Flynn’s Gone Girl. Phew! What a book. Well written. Held my interest till the end. . Takes the fact “There are two sides to every story’ to the edge, taking the reader into the nitty gritty of their life, as a voyeuristic journey ensues, and
it all unravels….Recommend it to book lovers

On to SL Bhyrappas new book ‘Yaana’ released recently. It’s the first Kannada novel of which 15,000 copies in two editions were sold on the first day. Reading a Kannada book after ages in its original brushing up my Kannada in the process

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Posted: August 29, 2014 in Uncategorized

End of times as we see it and a new beginning far away in the distant hills, one with nature where nothing gets distorted and everything is as it seems; where love with nature is uncomplicated with unlimited boundaries. No picket fences holding the sublime thoughts.
The stillness in that quietude is in harmony with the distant skies and the sea in its turquoise blue, beckoning the soul. How can I wish upon you those beauteous thoughts that will carry you through your moments in harmony, hoping the gentleness of life holds you in its embrace.
Let there be no more anonymous influence as you find yourself yet again while you wait patiently for tides to crash and retreat. If i could be just that one wave that could crash- engulfing and sweeping you away into a destiny that could be cherished then I would. I would sprinkle stars in your way. But since it is written in the sky that there is no wishing star and that it cannot be expunged as easily I smile and say farewell to those dreams and to you…
Here I go….

~S

Posted: August 29, 2014 in Uncategorized

Nestling, among the cotton fields; their white wispy strands floating around caressing her gentle soul, she lay down to rest- her sun kissed face looking above at the brilliance of a magic spreading eastward; its red streaks leaving their imprints on the sky. It was how they found her the next day at cotton harvesting. The smile hadn’t left her face they said. She was one with the place she sought, after leaving a million smiles behind touching mortals the way she liked to. Hers was a story she took along with her into the red earth. That is how she wanted it in the end, they said…

~S

Posted: April 18, 2014 in Poetry

Intractable solitude
silence of the mind
delving into its depths
foraging for lost pages
& words that got wedged
between a sigh and a smile…


~S


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Posted: April 18, 2014 in Uncategorized

The night sky with its moon, the deathly quiet of the arid fields, filling one with a foreboding that something waits to break asunder.
The scribble of the pen on the white echoes in my little yellow space, I wonder what the outpouring onto those pages are; running at breakneck speed ahead of my thoughts, forgetting the comma and the period. 
Moments of silence my only punctuation…thinking I may be encroaching into your space, pushing open the doors into that mind and looking for what exactly?
So I turn inward and wander in my own spaces finding the thoughts that tumbled out impulsively once.
Its me, words and the quiet night in Tango until the dawn breaks…

# Punctuations

Posted: April 18, 2014 in Uncategorized

Silently, snaking their way up the hills; a grueling climb, then stopping for breath they trudged on. Was the Promised Land up ahead?
Few died on the way to the pinnacle; few were maimed and truth be told none made it to the top. With the sun on their backs, breaking a sweat, in silence, along the way they found their reasons for undertaking the journey.
Shamans, oracles, priests,ordinary mortals and saints jostled for space and they missed the beauty and freedom of creatures roaming free on land along their path.
Whither wisdom, love and fragrance? Guarding it and keeping enshrined, worshiping idols.
They didn’t notice the Promised Land lie at the foothills, which they left behind in their quest for eternity and salvation.
Procession of Pilgrims…

~S

Mumbai Stories

Posted: April 18, 2014 in Fictional stories

The steam from my coffee cup added a haze to my reading glasses. I looked up from the newspaper my gaze stopping on the balcony opposite to mine; settling on the elderly gentleman reading his newspaper, basking in the morning sun. His wife had died a few years ago. No children. No relatives dropping in. The cleaning lady came by and left. He followed his routine of half-hour morning light, disappearing inside, then coming back to water his plants. His TV screen comes to life for the rest of the day giving him company. Evening he came down to the park bench; sat around chatted with whoever stopped by and left
It became my routine following his routine- whenever my fingers ached from writing, crying for a break- ever since I moved to Mumbai trying to make it on my own. My world usually revolved around the written word with deadlines and dreams of headlines. Occasionally if he caught a glimpse of me he waved and I waved back. Not a word more needed.

I looked up with a newspaper in hand, coffee steaming my glasses. No sign of my friend. I went back to my desk. I didn’t spot him in the park later on either. Sensing something unusual I walked over to his block and knocked on his door. His cleaning lady informed me that he was rushed to the hospital early morning and had passed away by afternoon. Something snapped and I turned away. She called me back and asked me if I wanted to keep his plants. I agreed and lugged them all home feeling a strange emptiness. I knew nothing about him except that his plants meant a lot to him; the way he nurtured them.

These days my morning coffee is followed by watering the plants after which I get immersed in my work. I missed his comforting presence. I looked across and sighed. As I turned away my peripheral vision caught someone waving frantically to me from the balcony above the one I had fixed my gaze on. An elderly lady waved to me and I waved back smiling. My new routine started and I went back to my desk smiling, lost in my world of words again…
Déjà vu!
~S
#Mumbaistoriesfiction

Forgotten Locks

Posted: April 16, 2014 in Uncategorized


I just need to know

which walls to break
to engulf in my love
imprisoned thus…
forgotten locks and bolts
rusted & ruined
they fell in disrepair
as I walked the line
freeing you from me
tossing the key aside…

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Monuments

Posted: January 27, 2014 in Uncategorized

Monuments of love
deafening in its quiet
impulsive in its captivity
tethered; in silence
a besotted heart follows cues
then stops center-stage
waiting for the curtain call…

~S

You…

Posted: January 27, 2014 in Uncategorized

My dreams; your riposte
no bulwark stemming that flow
a scent pervading in your absence
am staring at silhouettes
would i be sought again?
with your back to the wall
would we meet as an after-thought?

Slow Man by J.M. Coetzee

Posted: October 31, 2013 in Book Reviews
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J.M. Coetzee is one of those great novelists whose written words carry through beautifully taking the reader on little journeys leaving a wonderful feeling of having read a good book. The winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2003 Coetzee needs no introduction.

Having read his book ‘Disgrace’ which I found interesting I was persuaded to find and obtain ‘Slow Man’ . Curiosity got the better of me and soon enough came home with a copy from Blossom Book Store.

Coetzee was the first writer to twice be awarded the Booker Prize: first for Life and Times of Michael K in 1983, and again for Disgrace in 1999. He was also early favorite to win a third Booker Prize for Coetzee. Made it to the shortlist but lost out to Hilary Mantel.
Coetzee is known as reclusive and avoids publicity to such an extent that he did not collect either of his two Booker Prizes in person.

South African writer Rian Malan has said that:
Coetzee is a man of almost monkish self-discipline and dedication. He does not drink, smoke or eat meat. He cycles vast distances to keep fit and spends at least an hour at his writing-desk each morning, seven days a week. A colleague who has worked with him for more than a decade claims to have seen him laugh just once. An acquaintance has attended several dinner parties where Coetzee has uttered not a single word

“He lies stretched out,at peace. It is a glorious morning. The sun’s touch is kind. There are worse things than letting oneself go slack, waiting for one’s strength to return. In fact there might be worse things than having a quick nap. He closes his eyes: the world tilts beneath him, rotates: he goes absent.
Once briefly, he comes back. The body that had flown so lightly through the air has grown ponderous, so ponderous that for the life of him he cannot lift a finger. And there is someone looming over him, cutting off his air, a youngster with wiry hair and spots along his hairline…” ~ Slow Man

The book can be read as a metafictional discourse on the inter-relationship between the literary author and the characters, and with reality.

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