What is Eating You, Man?

Sometimes some event just make us stand in front of our-self. The “me” that we buried or just get hazed and lost with the time come to us to meet us. And that’s where the commotion started–what I was, what I am now. Many a time this worked as the catalyst of the drastic decision…

Color of Waiting is…

We left the past to be past; the last few months seems to be a dream, and now when we wake up this also seems to dream of that dream. The tree that had to die for looking at the eye now a hole, (where) the electrician works on the pole to let the rooms…

National Poem Writing Month 2020: Day 28: Camphor

in memory to my Dida… The morning was the amphitheatre and the room was the stage. I opened my eyes and alert to the voice clear and coming closer. It’s Sanskrit. She’s chanting the hundred eight names of Krishna. Her voice now can be heard outside the window. Listen, Hush. The window a rectangle with…