Sunday, September 25, 2011

Why we require agarbattis in an agarbatti stand

Before sun-rise

He bathed
Prayed to Goddess Laxmi

Offering agarbatti fragrance

A new brand
Rose, jasmine, sandalwood, mogra, champa, tarangini

While G.L. swallowed superior-grade smoke
He repeated his daily money mantra:
May the people of this land remain stupid, eternally hereafter

So that people like me can gleefully fleece them and triple my bottom-line

The logic of the honky-tonk man

What's more important

Asked the honky-tonk man
Eating yesterday's left-over

A day job?
Just a song on the radio?

Saturday, September 24, 2011

My friend's uncanny knack

Uncanny knack

My friend has

With his travels to Equitorial Guinea
To Belarus
To Uzbekistan
To Kazaksthan
To Iran

Last week,
He did deals in
Ethiopia and Rwanda

Don't you travel to happy lands?
His daughter asks him

He sips his single malt
Issues an opprobrium of sorts

Thick skinned countries
With thick skinned leaders
Create thick skinned citizenry
Who don't require high and mighty lectures and ideals

They require money
Which we pour
They require largesse of guilt
Which we leverage

Saying so my friend planned his next trip
To Eritrea

Sunday, September 11, 2011

At route number 524

At route number 524

Waiting for the bus
He took leg stump guard

When no one was looking
The septuagenarian
Twirled his working folding umbrella
Tapped the ground thrice
Bent his knees
Leaned forward at a right angle
Unleashing the most perfect drive through cover

Something Rahul Dravid would have been proud of

A Callery pear

This is my story

My parents
Who were they?
I hope they loved me

My latest birthday
I became more deciduous than I was ever meant to be
Brylcreem for my foliage, green
Bespoke tailoring for my branches, weak

I want to tell the story of my life
It is the only I know to tell

This fall,
My leaf turned shiny dark red to scarlet
I realise the grotesquery of my flowers, white
I pick up conversations from the bees
About sweet shops and bakeries
About grated Grana Padano and the aroma of fresh dill

Granite slabs for tombstones
Oak trees for company
But I can't dialogue with a 30-feet statue of Plato
Or the Tanagra figurines at my feet

I'm a marvel
In front of me
Silhouetted bodies pay a ticket
To mourn
They egregiously kiss
The tip of my fruit, inedible

If I could talk
I would tell you my fate
Today I plan to self-immolate

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Quite elementary

Quite elementary

He was told

When he was born

Please pray in Sanskrit

Communicate with your grand-parents in our mother-tongue

Four lectures per week in school in the state language

Attend office in English

Government-speak in Hindi

Order wine in French

Give gaalies in all of the above

And never-ever lapse into silence