An Emotion, Naked!


For Heaven’s sake, I’m eating,

I howled at her,

Sin felt, she stepped back,

In a flash! Drew away those arms bony that pled,

I’d never heard that voice of mine before,

I’d seen people scoff the same,

Assumed then, these moments weren’t mine,

They’d always been cast out of my lore,

Angry I’d then been, caught off shore,

Till seconds away,

I met this stranger self of mine,

Bit me her pain, choked me that burger bite,

Freaked me out that freaking reality,

Irritation shot across, my emotion’s disguise,

Her life slithering down the drain,

Only I could munch and fill to a smile,

Sweat kissed I gasped for breath,

While the Sun missed no chance punishing her insane,

On her shoulder, that naked baby,

Maybe slumber ridden, may be dead,

Stony did it lie… Enough!

A spark, and my count at work soothed dry my crying brain,

Out of breath then my emotions naked,

Too tough on a tougher day on this poor swine,

Dipped often in strains of haze and wine,

Soon wiped clear, formatted it all seemed till late evening,

For then took over Life…




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Joker’s Treat!


Life strolled naked,

Her hour yellow had arrived,

Her luck for the joker’s red smile,

Pity Taps gone dry yet another try,

Dirty rags forgotten,

Forgotten unwashed stained flesh,

Kissed that glass wall,

Rubbed on it some unfortunate stare,

Shooed her away her reality of the day,

Disposed now on tar to decay,

Filth today another hungry rainy day,

Behind that glass a doughnut someday,

The Joker’s treat, a flickering dream from the street,

Untamable ignited barked her desire…


(On a young ill-clad girl, thriving on the streets of Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh, India. She visits McDonald’s everyday before it opens up for customers to try her luck at mellowing down that service boy for something that may be could cost him his job, to hand her out only one and one of that stuff on that big poster, a chocolate doughnut.)


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Sharp a Contrast!


Save us from the wrath of the day,

In shorts with folded hands,

Bowing our heads to the Goddess, we used to say,

Our class queues ascended in that assembly,

From shorts to trousers, cardigans to blazers we grew gradually,

The Poet now ran in our veins, Tagore rang in our ears,

His verses stood against time,

A part and parcel of our morning prayers,

Our pledge for life to fulfil His dreams,

Where men would radiate parity beams,

No matter how fair ripened their cream,

They’d to work on only themselves, individually,

Each drop should contribute to an ocean someday,

An ocean of voices, thoughts and actions for equality,


Ten years down the line,

Now a stranger to that school,

Caught up in tougher currents of life,

I was coming down from a relative’s birthday party,

Stopped to pick up fags on my way, three hours to midnight,

A vegetable seller was getting home, back from his day’s work,

His only helper, his seven year old kid walked beside,

Adolescent eyes to the shop shone, ran the kid towards me,

There was something that he wanted to buy,

“Biscuits, I need them Dad”, he screamed back,

A big smile on his face, forgotten the day’s hard work,

Two local bakery biscuits, he’d won it all it seemed,

Biting into it slowly he walked ahead, elated in leaps,

“It’s already dinner time,” cribbing, his father followed,

The birthday that I’d just attended, seven turned a six year old,

She almost wrecked havoc in that decorated venue,

Her parents had brought her a new Samsung tablet phone,

Unhappy she growled at them,

“You know what I wanted a Sony Xperia Z,

Now I can’t even think of snaps marine.

Clicking those fishes with my hands dipped in that aquarium,

How will I click underwater while I swim with my pals?”

I overheard, switched into a state of shock,

Quickly recollected my naked little analogue years,

Pinched myself back to reality to find her sitting gloomy,

Her mom was away to change the handset,

The party continued, but I ate and left,

Saved myself of the predictable drama in store ahead,

And here I was, igniting both the fag and the engine, stray dogs bark,

The vegetable seller, his kid and cart fade away in the dark,

I sigh in wonder, “how sharp can be that contrast!”

Missed Tagore, his innocent world with light for all,

I drove away with our pledge, the Poet’s dream gargling on my mind…







Image Credits:

Mission India’013: Kill Poor Kids


Your crawl from rags to riches,

From broken pathways of mud,

Running like streams through harvested fields,

To sovereign bungalows looking over the Capital’s naval,

Gorging on the country’s yields,

Was balanced on your labor wheels,

Yet, what ignited your engine for the victorious path,

Were blessings from a million hearts,

Many a brother of yours might have toiled more hard,

But, power awaited you, your ambitions shone right from the start,

Into bureaucratic caves with the nation over phones,

Your lifetime opportunity to eat to the bones,

The crouching tiger, snarling hungry, beating years,

Is now unlocked, unchained served with meat,

Will he only eat only whatever’s served?

Or, will he hunt down darling helpless babies, call a curfew?

Your hungry past has stirred you so well in that greedy beer,

You’re scoring acres in ripening lands, blinded you’re poisoning our future,

Or maybe it’s your plan to relieve the nation, slash the burden of its poor,

Let’s see how high you soar,

The Mother’s curse shall soon break your oars,

Let your sins mount, breathes heavy this blood-stained topography,

Trust me you’ll be painted naked on wall graffiti,

Stripped off, your serious mask of philanthropy…




(An enraged expression directed at a corrupt governmental machinery, responsible for the recent headlines :

“22 children die after eating mid-day meal in Bihar school”

“Autopsies find insecticide in food given to Bihar school kids”





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Slums of Kandivali


Across the road,

Flourished another world,

The one brazen, unpolished,

One, sans the glass, the elevator and the décor,

The one that would never make it to the skies,

Might, only paint more green patches brown, only stretch to suffice,

In here is no business for the booted and the employed,

It is from here that cheap menial labour is deployed,

Amidst dirty parlours, dirtier bars, open drains and stony mud paths,

Breeds headless greed, short cuts to heal fates that are meant to bleed,

Amidst the stench of minerals therein, filthy liquor and spiked weed,

Fuelled by reflections of a shining Mumbai, its bright and golden beams,

Thrives hot aspirations, hotter dreams,

Some are eroded infertile, fragile on vision-less shoulders weak,

Some slither focused on scales of tactics,

On illegal buoys sail quietly on the sea of illiteracy,

Towards a shore concrete, green with a turf of prestige,

To mingle, then vanish unnoticed into whiter layers of that city…


( Kandivali, or Kandivli is a suburb of Mumbai of Maharashtra, India, for more, visit :


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Nothing Else Matters


“Is anybody in?”                    

Rockets up her disgruntled scream,

Her winking eyes staring up, beating the Sun,

Crows were drooling on high branches till then, had their heads dripping,

Caught in the trance of that tranquil noon,

They awaken displeased, shocked, alert,

Flock away to a safer position for a better view, cautious on the mid-street wires,

Her shrill pitch jolts up the building, has its windows jerk open with a shudder,

Summons the healing cement and bricks,

Tweaks their basic motive to exist,

Fumes of wrath sink in the air, has it sullen and heavy,

Robs the day, bright till then, of its yellow order,

Culls down an entire slot of eyes,

Rocked out of precious hard-earned slumber,

Disturbed, curious at her loud emergency,

“I need help, I need mercy,

I stay in the shanty by your side, just adjacent,

A matter of less life, and much death it is,

I have a patient…”                 


Stitches on her face,

Bandaged sterilized destiny,

Bruises, cuts and blots,

Traces of fresh injuries,

Veiled her strong aura,

Labeled on it a leopard skinned future,

Together, they grabbed attention for her,

Got minds inside reeling,

Steering into varied lanes of assumed conclusions,

Leafing back their pages of experience,

The board on their entrance read, “Let No Addict Die”,

They decide to abide by, to let her in,

At least pull her soaring volume indoors,

Prevent neighbors from assuming,

It’s Showtime at the Madhouse…


Kicking slippers off her feet,

Unable to reply questioning male stares,

Low headed, she hurries into the empty office,

Collapsing on feeble plastic, she looks up at the gathering outside,

Gasping for breath, she rings aloud,

“I need some minutes with the owner, “

Her eyes drill into the void, her head hangs down,

Her gaze, fixed on her lap,

Unruffled by trickling droplets of sweat,

In confluence with narrow streams of tears,

Dripping from her nose tip,

Smudging her fate wet,

Her overworked sari…


The chief in frowns, steps in,

Slams the door behind,

Hints in gestures to his staff,

To be ready outside, stay close by,

Her sobs thwart out of the room,

Her cries and pleads clamor,

Another evening meant fresh wounds,

New sessions of beatings for her,

She was withering away under the brunt of violence,

Her husband’s penniless rage in his alcoholic haze,

Now, seemed ceaseless, murdered her spirit every day,

Strangled her slow and steady,

Robbed her off whatever she made sweeping houses,

Her tanned youth, her days green, her vitality,

But, she swore before God,

She would be with him forever,

For after him, she knew well,

The world could only sell her,

Present her in charity, an anonymous death …


All of a sudden,

Shrieks of the chief bullet out,

Instantly, overpowers her howl,

Chairs screech, the door flings open,

Terrorized he runs out,

Grabbing the stony stair railing,

Abuses his profession, his commitment towards a cause,

Orders fuming red, “I want this woman out, immediately, “

Her honor won’t do, are we that hungry?

That’s not our price for treating her husband,

How dare could she take me for a pimp?

Could she think so lowly of us?

How dare could she reach out for her blouse?

How dare could throw that bait, could she try undress?

I want her out now, all at once…”


The most aged of his staff,

Rides on his advantage, wraps the sari around her well,

Cautious to touch, he was scared,

She was still screaming for help,

Her blouse still pulled down, forgotten,

While, they joined him to drag away her rebelling feet,

Staggering behind, she was spitting out shame, helplessness, begging an answer from the chief,

Shoved outside now, she still sat clutching the grill,

Weeping in hauls, a dark shadow eclipsed the atmosphere,

Steps deserted the gate, shocked voices growled from the office room,

Soon, she was gone,

Only a crushed slip thrown inside,

It read in the native language,

“Honor is too little a price,

I loved him,

We swore to be there for each other,

I have no money, but I’ve my soul, my life,

Help me, rescue two lives,

We’re perishing alive…”






(A day of strange observations in the life of an addict, when under treatment in a rehabilitation center in India.)




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