Eid Mubarak (Happy Eid) !


Minarets stood like lighthouses over the sea of taqiyahs*,

Lent out was a gigantic shade for the sons of Allah,

As if, the Sun bowed along with a million bows,

On speakers Holy prayers rolled, kissed the skies,

Trickled down the Masjid stairs, sank into the atmosphere,

Smiles in piles, greetings and hugs followed,

Jingled bangles, atar heavy the air, rang laughter galore,

Kebabs, sweets, jewelry and clothes,

Shops ran along the road like the never ending shore…


(On Id-ul-Zuha, from the Jama Masjid, New Delhi, India , October 16, 2013)

* taqiyah – is a short, rounded cap worn by Muslims, across the world to emulate Muhammad. It is a must for men to wear them while offering prayers.



Image Credits:




Little Delhi cries Holi !!!


Satellite minds, plump and lean,

Towering unclean,

Ailing young spirits,

Having woken up to a motley illness,

Infected by bugs of mischief,

Like comic dices rolling on a plastic board,

Rambling aloud, they rolled,

From one corner to the other,

From railings to grills and the door,

Chiefs took verandas for forts,

Windows for covered bunkers,

Rest of their midget army,

Hid unsuccessfully,

Their heads still highlighted against the blue sky,

To their dismay, I could see them take position,

Ready for an assault,

One that they knew would never fail,

One that would grant them an easy bail,

My steps, up that yawning street,

Was heading for its centre,

My pit in their battlefield,

Must have been counted for accuracy,

Time to reach, measured by now,

Gossiped discreet, balconies whispered,

War communications wired in yells,

I guess, they all knew by it now,

That I had little options,

Helpless was the lonely passerby,

To taste the end of that road,

I tread ahead, watchful above,

Could sense the silence temporary,

The morning wore a playful lull,

The air smelled naughty,

Of colors past the ides of March,

The God of Spring,

Was up to something…


Prudent eyes picked buildings,

One by one, naked vulnerable they swayed,

Zoomed in and out of high porches,

From this side of the street to that side,

Gangs of little gangsters,

Restless limbs in shorts,

Seemed like giggling mirages,

A flash here, a flash there,

Then empty verandas, shunned terraces,

Then into nowhere they disappear,

To their joy, they had their prey walking into the trap,

Unaware, his next step had him circled red,

Lit up, and locked in their cross-hairs,

Laughter rings the ambiance,

Still pungent, early enough to rinse and brush,

For the morning to smell flowery and fresh,

Crows flap off the wires and tall entrance gates,

All confused, panic-stricken, abruptly alert,

Color Balloons catch me off guard,

Strike my face, chest, and dress,

Heavy with water they almost pressed sores on me,

Had me roaring enraged,

Before screams lifted up my stare,

Little Delhi smiled apologetic from up there,

“No hard feelings big brother,

Please don’t mind, it’s pure fun,

Thank You, we’d a great target practice, a great time,

Wish you a very Happyyyyyyyyyyyyy Holi” *

All my anger vanished volatile,

Instantly evaporated dry,

Flashed across my childhood days,

For a moment, I wished it was never gone,

Countless must have been innocents that we had preyed upon,

The festival then too was stretched like this,

For the little ones, it has always been the same, complete bliss,

This colorful infection always got them for an entire month,

With guns and balloons dripping water,

We too have been on the hunt,

For a large informal kill like me,

Someone young, who likely, wouldn’t mash up their festive spree,

Cheers to Spring, to our days tender,

I was no more angry, no more low,

Smiling at the street below,

Above at them to reassure the fun,

My signal to them,

Kids you can disarm yourselves of concern,

Drenched, soaking red, blue and green,

Apologies still beating behind,

Past the choir of sorry cries,

I walk by…



March 19, New Delhi


* (Holi is the spring festival, celebrated with colors in the month of March. It is a Hindu festival, celebrated by followers of the religion, all over the world. It originates from India and Nepal, primarily… http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holi)

In the year 2013, the festival will be celebrated on March 27. Though for kids, the fun starts with the month, and ends only with it.

Durga Puja Diaries, Kolkata – “Dabble in Double the Lights”


Knotting the city,

Adorning the narrowest of its streets,

Pointing out to outsiders like me,

Electric strings of happiness,

Bonded together,

No matter how tough life coughed up to be,

They were there,

Hand in hand,

Shoulders in shoulders,

Entwining lives of each other,

Untiringly celebrating off sorrows,

Unknowingly augmenting smiles,

Like the calm water in front of me,

Doubling up the illuminated mood by that lake side…



Durga Puja Diaries, Kolkata – “The Butterfly Effect”

I know it’s late, and I would rather, honestly confess that it’s been around three months now that snaps clicked at the festival of Durga Puja in Kolkata, have been lying with me.

Now, it’s obvious that no matter how prosy my write-up is, if I share experiences woven around those clicks now, I will be imagined as a lazy bum by new friends from all over the world.

I can’t really get rid of far-fetched imaginations and conclusions, but I can very well try to put my opinion across. To express the same kind of emotions that ran through me when I came across the Udayan Sangha pandal in Naktala, Kolkata, was even impossible for me when I’d just reached home the very same night.

All that I could have done then for a bit of justice to my emotions, the joy that ran through my veins, would probably have been, uploading the pictures on a social media site, along with a few lines, trying my best to briefly dole out my fresh feelings, standing in that crowd.

So, sharing the same after months seemed like an unrealistic idea until I decided upon scripting an informal write-up to actually fulfill my desire to share images of the pandal with my readers.


Surrounded by standing butterflies,

Trees, bushes,

Making a patch in that urban neighborhood,

Depict a forest,


I could see the giant butterfly,


Her monstrous wings teeming with lights,

Lights red, yellow, orange, green and blue,

As if trying to eclipse all the attention towards itself,



I could see her coming out of the cocoon,

Encircled, guarded by the ones on their feet…



The cocoon had the idol of the Goddess in it. Both, the idol and the chandelier are worth a watch.