What they were looking to avoid by skipping days of the week. And by not buying saris made from two different pieces of cloth. They could just as well have found if they had looked in her eyes.

But only if they wanted to.

They could have seen the ‘bad signs’ they were avoiding, if they had just looked in her eyes.
But why would they? She was their ( Read more... )

A lot of this is conjecture of course. The wisdom of hindsight. A play of words.

Flip flopping memories. Turning them on their heads. Manipulating them. To mean different things. Mean things. Good things. All kinds of things.

But as time moves on, you cannot help looking back and writing. Or talking. So you do.

…

The flowers on the bouquets have long ( Read more... )

(Some of the images in the following piece might be too disturbing for educated men and women below the age of 29.)

Symbolically enough, you might say, somewhere East of the city (not The West). The Delhi winter playing its game. Now a cold breeze, now the harsh rays of sun. A fog envelopes the city, which is, for the most part, asleep. That time of ( Read more... )

How clearly he sees
his fingers as a
magical wand

And how easily he confuses
power fed to him before lullabies
as his charm

How carefully he
overlooks his own
failings

And how piously
forgives the same
in others

And yet, I wonder,
how much has he been fed
and blinded

How deaf must he be to words
and how unaffected
by their meanings

to be chanting,
so proudly

his ( Read more... )