Jul 19, 2013


Paris was not as intense as I had imagined it to be. I have never understood how to explain it but inspite of being the embodiment of a beautiful poem by a poet who has had the perfect amount of suffering, happiness, love, longing, torture in his life, Paris, for me, needed to be more. I wanted more. I had hoped for more. It had the capacity to make me feel pretty naked in my defense towards life but like I said, somehow, the whole experience was just a bit hollow. Each and every building asked for its soul. I was comforted by a new friendship with a fellow backpacker during the first half of my time there and Leonard Cohen in a lovely bookshop and thoughts of a very lovely boy in the second half. There is a reason why I am rambling today about this. Just read this piece on Flavorwire about what these lovely people have to say about monumental Paris and I kind of feel jealous that those emotions evaded me.

Mumbai is resplendent right now. Glistening leaves. Colorful umbrellas. Hard-working chaiwallas with their little stalls and sharp beautiful steam coming out of their aluminium almost-rusted kettles. The sound of the rain. The sights. The clattering sound on the tin rooftops at various places. The raindrops hugging the taxi or the car windows. Old silly Hindi songs on my radio while on my way to work. Schoolchildren jumping into filthy puddles. If this is not the moment to be fully alive then I don't know what is.

Jul 11, 2013

Your eyes

Your eyes lie vacant
Sometimes sharp like a lion
Who’s been hungry for three days

Sometimes mellow like migratory birds
On their journey to a new known place

Your eyes are fearless
Like a small lovely town
Undiscovered and flourishing

Your eyes are full of distance
Like a soldier in the enemy camp
Grim and angry
And optimistic about building a country

Your eyes
Slowly trickling down my skin
Quiet and sudden
 On the day we meet