Summer Showers

When Beauty chose to pay me a visit..


When the artist dropped his palette,

I gathered his mixed-up colours ..

No form nor meaning, 

the colours drench my mind

In joyful sorrow…


The raindrop finds a home in earth’s womb

and grows and blossoms..

I am learning from her-I await the raindrop,

hasn’t it always been mine?


I am not subject to the sculptor’s tool- chiselled and carved;

I am the ridge in the river’s soul, living and eternal.


When the moon rises today, keep a song for me , on the clouds…

Perhaps my soul would reach it, across the breeze of day.


I remember…

I remember when I fell off my tricycle and broke my arm.

I remember when I gave a school crush a dead cockroach for a gift.

I remember when my drawing teacher slapped me hard for colouring a flower wrong.

I remember Mowgli, Potli Baba and Pingu.

I remember Kya banoge Munna on DD  and morning-school breakfasts of curd rice and mango thokku.

I remember the kachoriwaala outside college.

I remember Nithya and our long talks on the porch behind chem lab. 

I remember my first kiss, on the steps leading to a lily pond, with the geese cackling.

I remember summer nights of mango ‘kuchi’ ice.

I remember the day it rained ice and I ate most of it, even as lightning and thunder threatened to scare me.

I remember my brother’s opinion on horoscopes.

I remember how my kindergarten teacher made me spell my name ” Vaidevi”. 

I remember all the stories of my sister’s crushes and all her pains of growing up.

I remember the first wine I tasted.

I remember sprinting across the Besant Nagar beach, oblivious to the onlookers.

I remember wanting to look like Nandita Das.

I remember Armageddon, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon and Maine Pyar Kiya.

I remember the ‘idly’ tank at Kilpauk Reserve Bank Colony. 

I remember a certain roti-gajar halwa lunch at the zoo.

I remember my baby, Uma. And many other babies of mine, some not human. 

I remember my tree back home and how she always made me feel better. 

And how if she had been, this post would not have.

And how I do not understand her anymore.

How we now speak different languages.

[ Idea of ” I remember” inspired by a book : ” Je me souviens” by Georges Perec. ]