For D.M.

For D.M.

It is 00: 49 a.m.

and we don't turn on

the fan now.

the clock can be heard ticking,

and vehicles on old palam road

driving by, each has

it's own destination

unlike me who listens

to Bob Dylan’s

No direction home going through

the speed breakers of each day

like a rolling Stone.

and get startled by the sound

of crackers on diwali

much like the pigeons on

the window air conditioner

who fly in flocks

but necessarily alone every time

there is a loud sound

only to find their way back

to the balconies and ACs

and window sills, littered

with their feathers.

it is late.

Over the Last Ten Years and Countless

It is amazing how many

Goodbyes I have

Said to you.

In 2009

when we were 10 years apart and

Kolkata and Bombay were once

a year far away from

one another

In 2011, when you got off

the metro at chandni chowk and

I travelled

With you, even though I had to

Go to New Delhi station. You stared

at me in the metro

and texted later on drinking beer with A

“If only I had seen a little more of you.”

Through 2012-2014, blocking

You numerous times,

On Facebook, writing

Drunken texts to you and

Taking your

Inebriated phone calls

In the middle

Of the night.

2016, you looked at me for

one last time

As you drove away from

The airport. And

It will be years

Before the vision of yr eyes looking

At me gets blurred

From mine.

2018

Promise me you will

Let me say

Goodbye again.

I did it thrice last night

The first time at 2: 29 when

I thought it was

Close to 5 a.m. because

I looked out

the window, and it was dark.

But I checked my

Phone and it wasn't yet time

To get out

Of bed and wake up

Poonam.

Then at 3: 23 a.m. when I

immediately reached

out for my phone but

it still wasn't late

enough for the first

smoke and cup of tea.

Then at 6: 00 a.m. but it still

wasn't time to say

“Poonam uth ja,

der ho jayegi.”

At 6: 50, not being able to

be on my own anymore

I called out

to her and said,

“Poonam uth ja,

7 baj gaye.”

She puts her cold hands

around me on

anxious mornings

And there is a little

more warmth than

the last 7 hours.

What can

clonezepam do when

There is worry in every

breath

i take travelling into

my body through

the pores on

my skin.

instagram coversations

I don't recall how our conversation began.

Perhaps it was something about you in a black and white photograph wearing a long overcoat

In a country whose winters are different from mine and colder.

What was the conversation about?

Do you recall?

I recall you made biryani that evening,

With mint and rose petals from your garden

And garnished it with fried onions on top.

I kept waiting for you to taste it and tell me how it was,

And you kept saying, “dum lag rha hai abhi bhi”.

You are my biryani memories.

You like heavy music and heavy women

Me, I like Mumford and Sons -You think they are boring.

I like auto rides and you don't.

You scold me for my silliness in saying I have no coordination in my motor movements

And then send me kisses to make up for it when I sulk.

You like driving and I,

I'd like to sit beside you one day.

We talk of old soaps Cinthols and Lirils and smells

Of winters and autumns.

I tell you I like wooden porches and picket fences,

You say “that is so american.”

If only you could look at the behind my eyes you would know

That picket fences and wooden porches and orange juice and warm breathes in the winter fog and kisses and holding hands

Is really rather Tatun-ish

Cigarettes after sex

Erotica

And subtle innuendos

And my shyness and yr confidence

Mingling and mixing like rain and earth.

Your stare on my body would melt me and I want you but I don't want you

For there are too many fears of losing my head

But you cook and sing and play the bass and have beautiful hands and feet that look like they have just got a pedicure and you tell me “it's fine babe”

And boy I long for touch.

And writing about all of this

All the food and smells and sex requires a lot of effort

Because all I really want is to have a beer and a cigarette with you.

A lor of people found this disturbing. Others found it amusing. Some others told me im better than this. 

Poem

Dear Anyone,

I have run out of metaphors to put into writing what I am going through.

The truth is, what I am going through is really nothing. And yet,

I am tormented, scathed, and alone and suffocated.

Dear Anyone,

Will you come to me when I try to sleep? Come to me when I try to sleep.

Stroke my arm, kiss my shoulder, and put me to sleep.

Drink in my naked body; stare at me in the mirror,

Touch my belly without repulsion, lift my breasts

With curiosity- Teach me to love myself.

Wrench out my fear and loathe for my own soul and body

And teach me to love myself.

Dear Anyone,

I am broken in places. I am the cigarette that doesn’t burn through and through.

I want to burn through and through. My nerves tingle under my skin,

Snaking along the course of my body, threatening to crawl out into the open.

Dear Anyone,

I despair, oh how I despair. How I need. Take it away, wont you?

Take away the need and the yearning and don’t ever leave me:

There’s a conundrum for you. The bile in my stomach rises up in my mouth.

Take away that ugly ache in my stomach, love, wont you.

Kiss me sweetly,

Crush my bones to white dust. Set me free, love. Set me free. 

My Dog.

Yesterday
I came to know
My dog died.

My dog was __ yrs old.
He wasn't really my dog.
He was a stray. The last
Of the two left
From a littler of five

For the last couple of days
I couldnt see him.
I'd whistle
But he wouldnt come bounding up.
I suspected
He had died.

Yesterday
I came to know
My dog died.

He liked meat bones.
He wouldn't eat anything else.
Maybe a little milk.
But nothing else.

Yesterday
I came to know
My dog died

and

The garbage truck carried him away.