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Is this love? Is mossy green the right shade for Earth? Why doesn’t love last? Why doesn’t blood? Why does this longing? How to paint gnawing? Can’t figure out and yet I paint brokenness, roots—why? Where did I read about Shiva’s third eye? Did...
When I was young, I saw whispers escape the fog of their memories and spread on the kitchen floor. They sat facing the fire burning the timber of tales of partition in such a way that it sealed the knots, grain of every pain felt, seen, heard—of...
“The sex is so good.” I used to gush like a mynah bird. Heard a bulbul sing recently? Intently? Kyun nahin, nahin, kyun nahin, nahin. Sounds don’t translate; words do. Be mindful where you place your words, your love. Making love is not the same as...
this thin world all full of talk talks of cyclones that blew out stars stars too dim to listen to prayers we send send to them as kites tethered to lines of crystal crystal when crushed cuts through flesh flesh bleeds, fridges rust this thin...
We drive to the park for our weekend walk. You, me and our angry complaining silence superglued to us tight. Shut. I turn the seams of my thoughts inside out can’t find any traces of the us we’ve practiced all these years. So, I turn the radio...
Don’t commit the folly of using your eyes to pick the best. Ripe, luscious, juicy. Tsk. Don’t have a clue, do you? Superficial fools! Listen, pay attention—close your eyes. Don’t peak. Hover over the fruit with other senses; smell, touch, gut,...
when days were mangoes, I sliced open a Sun slid one half over the horizon and kept the other in my pocket pulp, juice, smell, innocence I was copying my grandfather – his kameez pockets were always full of jaggery the mango seed, I scraped clean...
This defined Love (of stories and tragic ends) La ILA Majnu Romeo Juliet, Heer-Ranjha is a kite carved out of SKY poured and pushed into frame-hearts of mortals to pulsate with pulse in a lover’s chest. Lines of colour, of religion and all games...
All the things I’m meant to receive today; sun warmth on yoga mat bird song orange jasmine lush lime peeking through windows vacuum cleaner whirrs; the cleaner is back sweat on brow hover over me like a child whose mother died; she’s four years old...
Pink Himalayan Salt Deodars tall. Tall and rock-hard. Soft, the softest mist on mountains melts you into me— hidden half, in full view those valleys and those peaks. I sprinkle pink Himalayan salt on sliced tomatoes, freshly washed rocket leaves....