I miss you every single day.
No one else I know comes close.
Just thought I should say it again.

Treat me as a sequel

I wrote a poem once that was fairly well accepted. I have, on popular demand, written it's sequel. Just yenjai. Shyju, thank you for your encouragement. ;)

TOOTH
We'll never remember
how we kissed
in our thousand follies of youth.

Now forever
on the nape of your neck,
the triangle of my tooth.

BLUE TOOTH
We'll never forget our thousand follies of youth.
I have a reminder; activate your blue tooth.
I am my biggest cavity.
I will spend my life now
in minor contracts and in dentures.

Happy places

Due to some new and immensely pungent variety of glue that our office has invested in, I feel like I'm working in a chemistry lab. Which is a refreshing change. The smell also reminds me of Mumbai. Which reminds me that I have never made a list of my happy places.

Here are a bunch, in random order.

Balcony of Room 102, YWCA, Colaba, Mumbai
I spent a week in this room in 2004. It had the hugest balcony in the building, facing the bustling smoky Madame Cama Road. Also one of the eeriest places, doubtless. But I was happy there. If I close my eyes,I can see the Malayalee cigarette shop right outside.

202, Dona Maria, Cooke Town
My first home. And by that I mean, the first house that I lived in, when I moved out of my parents' place. One bedroom apartment, with a tiny hall and a balcony that you had to look for. Has housed as many as 20 people, when it was in the mood.

"Time it was and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago it must be..."

Tea Centre, Churchgate, Mumbai
Green walls, Vinay Aravind, hot buttered apple tea, the struggling Richard Clayderboy on piano. I have tears in my eyes. I would sell my non-existent soul for another hot buttered apple tea.

Koshy's, Bangalore
Responsible for about 60% of my life, considering how much time I spend there. But it was my happy place in the days when Chandra and I would spend hours together. I think we've written a bunch of short stories there, none of which I seem to have.

Hotel Mamatha, off Cunningham Road, Bangalore
Back in the Mount Carmelesque heyday of Kiran, Sam and Anoopa. Chai- Rs. 3/-, Cigarette- Rs. 3/-. About two-thirds of our grand declarations, sweeping statements and not-so-teenage ideologies took shape under the eagle eye of the Malayalee hotel owner. (Notice an alarmingly large population of Malayalees in this post, as in most other places in the world. The world is their banana chip.)

Upbeat, Cox Town, Bangalore
A recently-discovered haunt. Tart and I have taken to spending at least one evening every fortnight, catching up on bad decisions, lousy personaity assessments and other hilarities, in the warm, sour company of Riviera White.

One (one thousand)

Lying under a wrinkled sheet,
his mind's eyes are playing games.
All the gargoyles from his past-
the different sizes, shapes and names-
build pyramids out of lousy dreams.

Counting oddly-numbered sheep,
he christens all of them with names
of all the gargoyles from his past,
making fire out of blame,
they're turning into woolen flames.

His lullaby is red and orange,
killing monsters when he's bored.
He'll live to kill another soul,
his heart is black, his laughter whole.
Even dreams are dyslexic with rewards.

Coming up for air

What is the exact opposite of serendipity? A chance meeting or occurrence that changes your life all right, but not for the better?

If life wants to be messed up enough, you’ll meet at least one really sick twisted person in your lifetime. I’ve had the immense displeasure of not only knowing one such but also being related to him. And tomorrow, he’s getting married. I just wish there was some way of telling the unsuspecting woman, what she is getting into. But I’ve realized I don’t have what it takes to face her or do anything about it. I only hope that her life henceforth will be okay. And that I will stop feeling guilty and helpless.

I don’t know if my sin is worse than his. If there really is a God, I wish It would show up right about now.

Narcissa

The mirror has two phases.
The last time I saw her, she had
Christine Daae-d and Miss Havishammed herself,
drowning in operas, stopping watches,
freezing time and storing winters in boxes.

Today, she removed the wail
and dawned an iridescent Feste,
motley in her description of men and manners.

The mirror has two phrases.
In the beginning, an iambic pentameter,
stressing and un-stressing
like a spasmodic gut-wrench,
stuck in Donne’s enjambment.

Now a warm haiku
Carefully measured triplets
Of cynicism.

Faust book

Who have you sold your soul to, today? And for what?
The next time things change around, can I get a memo in advance?

Brothers and sons

I think it's time you met my family. Just. It may give you an idea of how little I like people, and how much wisdom I gather from my brothers and sons. For instance, none of the five below will read a human being as wrongly as I do a lot of the time. A lot. They have instincts, I don't. I get it. But still. It's worth aspiring.

When I grow up I want to be any one of them. Okay, maybe not Bruce.

Somu. 12 years old. Tough, muscular, strong and silent. Lover of understated affection and brittle slices of old bread. Has the most ominous growl ever bestowed on a Dacshund, and knows it. My oldest, wisest and most favoured brother.


Hyder. 9 years old, I think. Whatever they say about nice guys is true. Gets bullied by most other dogs. Is a firm believer in the old Canine saying, "If you hide face, rest assured that Scary Dacshund cannot see rest of body either. Whimper." Like to sit at the dining table and be fed papaya out of a bowl. There is a firm belief in the Nandyala household that Hyder doesn't know he's a dog.


Bruce. 5 years old. Or something. Loves only Food and Mother in this whole world. Has recently found out that he is obese. He now has a "trainer"- a skinny boy who the vet sent- who takes him out on two-kilometer walks each morning. Enjoys listening to the author sing Geeta Dutt hits, while falling asleep. NOT, as it turns out, Janis Joplin.


Foucault. Almost 5 months old. Mamma's boy. Lives on love and cable television. Enjoys watching The Simpsons and taking a big friendly bite out of Bonzeaux's ample tail.


Bonzeaux. Almost 5 months old. Foucault's twin brother; fraternal. Is the feline version of Uncle Bruce, food-wise. Once ate a whole fish, a leg of chicken, puppy food and a glass of milk for dinner, when he was four months old. Seen here with a bust of his father figure, Garfield. Climbs curtains, walls, and lighting fixtures for exercise.