The Y I Need To Be Online

I have fought against it. Resisted it. Battled it. Yet, I find myself shaking off the cobwebs of online obscurity. Like a baby that has opened it’s eyes to the world, I find myself on the Internet. These pages might offer succor to the weary, I hope. I kid myself. I do not dream of

The Art of Driving

I have been reading this book called Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walters. Juxtaposing past and present with equal ferocity, I feel myself being yanked back and forth into time periods that we never can in real life. That’s why we love reading so much. The tenacity of knowing that we can cling to illusion and

Blue Funks

I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I last posted on this blog. This was meant to be my little place out in the world. I can’t believe how much that little world inside me has changed. It has shrunk and I can barely see out of it.I watched two movies today. “The


Walking around in the graveyard, little flowers peeked underneath the grass. Long blades of grass. Shifting in the autumnal breeze. The ground underneath didn’t bear thinking but it should. The flowers. The grass. The stones. The tombstones. Underneath lies rotting carcasses. Bones of death. Flesh decayed. Molten fluid surrendering to the fresh earth. I walked


The last post on this blog was in September 2012. It’s now 2013. I can’t believe that it’s been already three months into this year. It’s a year that has begun on a weird, and rather unfathomable note, like my ol’ friend, Boy, would say. I am here – trying to think of all that

My War with Chinese

This blog has been so neglected of late. It feels like an abandoned child, and so does my writing. I haven’t written anything in months – I wonder why. As a writer, I have never felt the overwhelming intensity to just pour the crass and the crap and the beauty out of living. It’s just

Turning Around

I haven’t been able to write in a while. I don’t know why – I have travel stories still moving around in my head, turning the corners of roads I have already been. There are life stories that invite me to fall back on memory – there are stories that need no category, that are

My life has been the poem…

My life has been the poem I would have writBut I could not both live and utter it. ———————- HD Thoreau. ———————- And how much would I have wanted the poem? And how much the life? Life brings poetry, or poetry brings to it life? Go on. Spread the love!


I like mangoes. A lot. Cliches call it the king of fruits. I wonder if there is a queen of fruits. King or queen, I love its succulence. At its richest, it’s an unending source of pulpy goodness. Why would a manufacturer bottle such goodness? Kind of life how we do for all the good

The Bus

It’s always like this. I take two buses to office. I get down at this old part of Bangalore, called KR Market, or Krishnarajendra Market. My bus drops me outside Tipu Sultan’s decaying and crumbling fort. The Market is much like the Fort. It’s an abysmal representation of the ‘real’ India. I had once sent