On Extremes

In light of robin and wren-lousy spring, I am more attuned to Bengaluru birds. They hoot and chatter and lurch in intervals I could never replicate – although, that isn’t saying much. I recall a cacophony hidden in a banyan tree, and a perplexing, fruitless inquiry into its origin brood. Another banyan, a couple of […]

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An April Away

An April away, across oceans and day, an unsweeping wind ruffles the dog ears by which I measure my life. Thunder threatens and lightning cracks and looming clouds give way to hail, holy as the tree-trickle that tickles my nose after the storm has passed. Dust is chased to the far side of the plateau […]

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Experiments with Time

  Time slows when I am alone; every step is accounted for, every breath acknowledged. Its lazy river runs against the currents of my pace, the world building itself apiece at a time – stroked robin, damsel snow, windchime branches all buzzed on the sunset’s langor. I slow, as well. It takes me far too […]

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banana tree

In Bronxville, I meet a banana tree watch its leaf curve over me feel its skin between my fingers and remember every meal eaten from its hands Hands, dipped in water sprinkled dew on sadhya platters The patter echoing down a banquet procession The leaf takes its revenge, spills rain onto my nose and reminds […]

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Spirals

I always told myself to be so interesting as to not bore of solitude. I don’t think I’ve followed my own advice. My mind is constantly pestering me with questions about what comes next. In everyday time, this takes on the form of keeping myself constantly engaged. But when the lights go out and I […]

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India to her Monsoon

When the winds begin to blow Heralding your arrival My scorched sand is loosed I gain a life of my own I tremble I dance In anticipation of you. When you paint the sky a welcome grey And emerge from behind the clouds Whispering your presence Among the joyous cries of men and beasts Among […]

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The Pipe Dream

What do I want? I fear these pages will not bear witness to that. They are warm, dripping with potential, but I will not trouble them with the irrational demands of the naive little girl housed in these bones. She whispers to me, sometimes, and the winds that escape her wrap my arms in ribbon […]

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