In Limbo 2

Seven peacocks sit on the parapet of our terrace fronting the bay. A murder of crows spearing into the morning silence flies past chasing a hungry Brahminy kite who desires absolutely nothing but a clutch of eggs for breakfast.  The jails in the country are packed with sloganeering opposition leaders, journalists, activists, and to use everyone's favorite term, 'pseudo-intellectuals'. As elections draw near, the dire need to quash all competition has arisen  within the alpha party.  More than six months on, the war wages on in  the Holy Land. Yet, the country responsible for it, stands fifth on the World happiness index! According to the United Nations, more than a million people are likely to suffer from starvation in the war-torn region since aid is not being able  to reach the affected populace because of innumerable road blocks.  It rained last night. An out of season shower, which brought the peacocks out of the coconut grove. The cashew tree now laden...

.                              Evening walk   1. a heart-shaped pebble is her find of the day. "are you thinking of me?" silently she asks to no one in particular. the young girl inside   this aging sheath never ceases to  amaze. who is she? how lovingly  she looks at the sky: eyes wrinkled from searching but aglow, adream... yet, why do i find myself scowling  at her, shoving her in the smoky darkness, heaving, ashamed? its smoothness against her  cheek like the flutter of twilight  hour, its coldness like the ghost  of snow on a spring morning, its silence adrift in the grooves of the dogged question, "are you thinking of me?" 2. a tremor courses through the sliver of the crescent moon  as outstretched wings swerve past...and, you  ask me why do the  reflections in a puddle  waver on a windless day?

Being one of the few Indians at the last frontier of Fairbanks, Alaska, it was quite natural that I should have been invited to the local high school to make an hour and a half long presentation on Hinduism for a group of 11th graders which I accepted, albeit hesitantly. Having never identified myself with any one particular religion, it was bound to be a herculean task, especially since we didn't own smartphones and chose not to have an internet service at home. This meant that I needed to pick my own brains and rely on what I had learnt in my social studies classes some two decades ago.  From its Vedic origins to its pantheonic Puranic manifestations, my objective was to  touch upon  the whole gamut of beliefs which constituted Hinduism. Not surprisingly, the students were particularly interested in the caste system: its origins and its devolution. I tried to explain it in the light of the German theorist Lamprecht's principles of the four stages that a civilization or ...

Lo, i lean back into myself,   into a dense  communion lush and flowing into the ocean blue of this throbbing which soothes,  holds, uplifts... spirit paused in the cadence of timelessness drifts into   imbroglio herded into golden glens above the starless space  of a  full moon night, lo, I lean back into myself like a cat

feathers dipped in sky lie by the side of a sandy road, clouds slathered in red mud tread across the twilight  hour, in the glass  window of a parked  car, there is a stir of  flight as a jungle crow  swoops down over a  dead mouse; a young  girl smelling of scented flowers passes by, soft like the rains last night

  I am Ram. Who are you? Are you Ram too? Well, that makes two of us...an ♾️ of us Today is Diwali. Somewhere a son has returned home after an epiphaneous journey. Tears of happiness flow, prayers and gratitude rise in murmurs. Faces shine like gods'.  Today is Diwali. The brainfever kept announcing it with its crescendoing  whistle, and the sun with its golden brilliance. After the overcast monsoon skies, such days dazzle the being and invite it to partake in a pageantry of blessings,  seen and unseen.  Today is Diwali. The laptop is flaunting a brand new RAM.  It is now entitled to a fresh lease on life...an opportunity to prolong its raison-d'être before it is mangled and dumped in the landfill to pollute. Today is Diwali. The dancing sparks of light fill the air, shattering the darkness and touching us awake. Having meandered in and out of the labyrinth of Unconscious, we step into Light. We return home to ourselves, to the song of the wind and flo...

                    Early morning, driving through narrow pot-holed Tindivanam road in an old, rickety Ambassador always spelled home and the promise of a beautiful sunrise.  Tamarind trees with white bands on the trunks ran along the road, revealing its darkling contours, in little parcels of oohs and ahs. "They are protected by law. They will never be chopped," the driver told us. So innocent was his faith, so firm. A decade later we were driving on a six lane Tindivanam highway... " This beats New York's hwy-87 anyday, right darling?"  In no time, India had metamorphosed into a global powerhouse. Highways after highways piled up with mad drivers in a hurry to reach somewhere, anywhere where the roads would take them. In some cases, people protested against the indiscriminate clearing of green belts, be it towards landing of a VIP helicopter, building of a new mall,  extension of a metro line, or a bullet train! But, pro...