It is a piece of golden comfort
The buildings, three-storied,
old and lime-washed, are surrounded by trees.
Hulking guardian angels of the locality.
On Adenwalla Road outside,
taxis are parked around bends,
the drivers asleep on the boot.
Another road shimmers ahead,
dazzling like a river in the afternoon light.
My father and I are walking…
there is a sugarcane stall here,
the smell of beedi smoke…
How brightly this scene glows and glows!
The jingling of the crusher
still ringing in my ears.
The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).
the day is longer than the verandah
summer is hot
and I know
what it is to be sad
life I cannot fathom yet
but I see the buildings and the trees
I see the roads and the cars
and the faces of the people and I am happy
only now this summer I remember all this
sitting in my room
the laburnum outside is a yellow carpet on the trees
there is so much shit in the world
chemical warfare in Syria Kashmir is burning
an iron griddle falls on a little girl’s head in Bombay
a piece of her skull gets lodged in her brain
what horror I think lying down in bed
as the afternoon sun breathes like a dragon outside my window
and then the doors of my mind close
the words I read and write become water
I hold on to my life
I can barely recognise
this is not the person I am
this is not the world I know
and this is what life is
as it slowly begins to get darker
and the birds start playfully wheeling around in the sky
while I sit alone at my window watching.