If it was an argument

You wanted the last word

If it was a joke

You wanted the last laugh

If it was a game

You wanted the first prize

If it was a war

You wanted me dead

If it was love

You wanted to be the final one

You wanted absolute power

I wanted complete equality

Now I take back my power

and you claim me as your equal

I am not sure if

This was a love story

Will it be any different?

if we begin all over again?

( The picture taken from google images)





Once upon a time in a land far away

Was how most of them started

So I always prepared to go far away

Whenever I read a legend

Then it all started with a death

And finding clues to catch the killer

I often prepared to heave a sigh of relief

Next came those she was not truly wanting

Him but he wanted her, they ended

Wanting each other, the Mills Boons

My bane to belong to a gang of giggling

faces , curious and expecting

Last came the best

The ones I read to survive

the meaninglessness of life without words

Now plot did not matter

The person did…

Now the end did not suffice

to justify the means

I read about real life characters

I could return to the first chapter

Knowing the end…


She was toying with the idea of being Rake’s girl friend, but his lifestyle, education, job , nothing tallied with her,and Madhu could not get into a romantic liaison where future was non existent. If she had to think about being Rake’s girlfriend, then it was wrong. It was just loneliness, a state of her emotions, it was non specific, he had no specific attributes to fill it. Because, when she wanted something or someone she often realized it long before the other person had any inkling. She could sense a mate in a man, like the rain in a cloud, or the fruit in a seed, sensing which seed will grow roots and survive. Tallest trees often had deepest roots.  Once her feelings were really stirred and reciprocated she could suffer, and believe that love like faith is non utilitarian………Unreciprocated, so even in the privacy of her own mind Anand was banned, but Madhu lacked the common sense, or shrewdness of an urban mind to look for a practical marriage. The genes of a farmer, who was carried away by the song before sowing the seeds, played its part, transcending all logic. She was looking for a love larger, grander than the previous one.

If anything she wanted to love a man more than she loved Anand, having convinced herself, this other man was somewhere close by, like truth, she just had to find him.

Madhu’s faith was like that, somewhat childish, magical, but real to her, she really believed there was a god somewhere in some ruined temple, no one had recognised his divinity, so he was waiting to be worshipped by her, in the process he would become human, make her human, redeem her from herself, she would discover him, even knowing that he existed would redeem her from this infinite loneliness. This faith caused her loneliness, but in it laid the only key to her redemption. She had no choice but to find it. But it was a corner of her soul, where this insanity was permitted, as it formed the foundation for her sanity, she did not permit reason to spoil this. She cleverly masked it no one saw that insanity.

Her sanity was fragile, dependent on the strength of this insanity.


She read the question paper in utter shock ! These were the questions her friend had said would appear in the exam, she had protested it was impossible. Nothing wrong with the questions, she knew all the answers , but…….it was not an exam if everyone knew the questions before….she gave the empty answer sheet to the invigilator. He tried to reason , “Are you blank ?Take some time ” She did not listen. She did not get a degree , she could not become a lawyer , disillusion lost a future of fighting injustice.

( This is the  real story of my mother , who raised four children, became a homemaker after she walked out of this exam, a poet and social worker. Because of her , I completed all my exams. Thanks Mom)


There is a road that ends with out

traffic signals

There is a door with all its

metallic colors peeling

There is a car abandoned

in the portico of a house

the owner never came for

Cobwebs shut the panes of the glass

There are letters that

are always incomplete

And wild flowers that sleep

Through the winter


I hurt you because

I did not heal

And I had the gall to see…..

I could not have pressed the

Benjamin button nor

Go to the Year of the cat

Turn back the time

And erase the Random Accessible Memory…

I could hug you over phone

You made that viral!

I wrote a poem to let you recover

You used it as evidence!

Sigh …or song none were spared……

All my strengths became vulnerabilities

I felt no lust for a man

For whom love was dispensable.

I frankly want to forget an affair

That never happened

Except in your head and

On my white dry paper…..

I have served the sentence

For writing poetry.