Monday, September 14, 2009


From the heights of Charminar
Life seems small and unimportant
Something to do away with.
Pearls scintillate in the streets
Adorning your journey
To the minaric heights.
Countless pigeons flock its windows
Like warring ancestors for control.
They fly off now and then
For prayers in Jama Masjid.

In Salar-Jung's museum
Rebeca, in her delicate folds
Welcomes you to a scattered past
Swords and shields
Nut crackers and ivory cases
Fancy pistols and barreled guns
Sexy goddesses and meditating Buddhas
French furniture and Japanese clocks
Bidri crafts and Chinese jade
Endless things in the galleries galore.

On the banks of Hussain's tank
Are poets of the yore
Stuck with their verse, and
Looking up to a smiling Buddha
Clad in a folded robe
And dressed up for the sermon.
As you traverse along
The necklace adorning the ascetic
There are lovers, lost in each other
Like Quli and Bhagmati.

The Shahi tombs lie abandoned
Lost to time like an ancient love.
Once in a while visitors turn up
like memories of nostalgia.
The dynasty rests in peace
As the sun sets and it loses sight
Of the palace on Golconda.
Pin drop silence around the fort
Except an odd couple dancing
Before a moving camera
Like Shiva and Parvathi
With takes and retakes.

Away from this bustle
In quieter streets
There are unmarked graves
And surviving fort walls
Weeds grow through them
enshrouding their existence.
Stories as children we hear
Of treasures being carted away
Every night to Istanbul and London.

The city sleeps sound
With the undercurrent of love
Of Quli and Bhagmati
Still seen on the bridge
In each others' arms
Listening to the Moosi
As it carries away
The sorrows of the day.

Saturday, September 12, 2009


War, like a video game
In the rugged terrain
Two soldiers, white and black
Almost brothers, fight in the slack
The enemy, an unsophisticated hero
From the previous version.
Food and weapons.
Weapons and food.
Men to kill.
Men to guard the killed.
Arms in arms.
In love this could mean something else.
Breakfast: On a table supported by Kalashnikovs.
Lunch: Near the barricades, if alive.
Dinner: One could be, to the worms.
Across the Atlantic, the indices soar
The economy booms like the bombs.
Listen, you can hear it booming.
If peace could create so many jobs.
May be it doesn't
Someone has to do the killing
And bring home a piece of peace.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

How am I

How am I a mirror
Of the times I live in?
If at all anything
I am a mirror in an empty room.
Now, what am I looking at?
And from which direction am I looked at?
And what is understood of me?

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Singular and unique

The co-ordinates of death
In the space-time continuum
Are nothing to be talked about.
They are in fact eluding
Like the early morning dreams
Stored and yet slipping away.
But they can be felt,the mystics say
When it is that time of the day.
The flickering of lamps
Warnings from alms seekers
Right from the street dog
To the fading portrait of god
All are sign posts of death.
Only that, you wouldn't notice.
You might give this a thought
And be jolted to what you are not:
A helpless dud.
You are helpless only beyond your life.
Don't forget it this time
When there is a meteor shower
You wake up and take shelter
And when you are buried under the rubble
Please show signs of life
Unlike the stones sandwiching you.
Forget abut the collective.
You are singular and unique.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009


My dreams, I shared
with too many people.
And now, they lie scattered
like old friends.
Sometimes, I see them
in the buses I miss.
And often in a crowd
that's difficult to wade.

Saturday, September 5, 2009


Living is believing

Action, Inaction
Persistence, Resistance
Active, Passive
Frowns, Laurels
Ups, Downs
Losing, Winning
Love, Hate
Later, Now

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Wanted: A hero

I am lazy and hence
I am not my hero.
Some one else is.
I do not care if it's a phantom
like gods and demigods.
I need a symbol of sorts.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


How awkward it would be
if the dead come back alive!
What you have made peace with
turns up one evening at dinner.
What would you have to say?
Will you be pessimistic and think
someone is playing a prank on you?
Or chit-chat casually like before?
Will you be able to make room
for this unexpected arrival?
A long list of questions can arise
From the soap cake to sharing rooms.
That is why these beings of the past
come visiting in their Halloween costume.
That scares us hell, but saves us
from the awkwardness of normality.