For Keta

I miss this beautiful girl...

http://worldwidehelp.blogspot.com/2005/12/remembrance-week-26th-december-2005.html

It's Billy the Kid!

Thank you all for helping with the wonderful suggestions. The puppy's vet Dr. Karkare loved each one of them, and wonders if he could keep the name suggestions in his name bank.

Sanjana, thank you for mentioning Fibbles and Tweedle, as the names took me back to Enid Blyton days. Doodle is my friend Rishi's pup in Miami and it drives everyone dizzy by running full tilt all over his garden.

Dinesh, your cue on Amitabh Bachchan had us all watching the Amitabh Bachchan movies on tv (we were on the phone all night as the movie was played!) .

Suniti, you more than anyone else has helped me stay rooted, hearing me blab on about puppies and separation from their mothers, so have no words to say thank you.

David, Vanilla Bean is a cool name!

Hey anonymous! Classical suggestions like Charulatha, Troy, Taramati compared well with Vikramaditya and Bajarangbali and Ghatotkach, but your suggestion of Chiquita had friends call the poor pup Bababanana (in the manner of Barbapapa).

Townreporter, i dont know if mash has wronged you in any way, but this is an innocent pup you are helping name. such a pity you make so much room for venom in your heart, when the Blue one offers nothing but love. you too are made in his image, so please accept my namaskaar to you.

It was a daunting task, but the kind Vet helped us through the names. The puppy responded to Mirza, Billy, Baajirao and of course Ghonchu. Sunil Mohite, who got us this beautiful pup from the Breeder Mr. Vidya Ratan of Pune, was calling him Baajirao, but the puppy merely raised half an eyebrow on hearing 'Baaji'. The Doc and I loved the idea of calling him Mirza, but he would not even offer us that half eyebrow. Ghonchu he responded to was too silly to contemplate so mash was voted down. That left Billy.

So Billy it is. A tribute to all the Westerns one has read when growing up. A tribute to the dreams of riding with the winds and inspecting fences. A tribute to a character at once hated and at once loved...

Billy the Kid, it is. You are welcome to come and bless the puppy!

Have a wonderful Christmas, and a new year filled with Bliss.

Thank you all for being so kind.

baby and dad (iii)

 

baby and dad (ii)

 

baby and dad

 

my new baby

thank you Suniti for taking pics of my new baby. we are having a tough time naming him. he has inspired many. his dad (mahesh), shashanka ghosh, and his doc loves the idea of calling him William Lee, in short, 'bill-lee'. peter griffin has offered 'mirza' or 'ghalib' or 'slinky'. the last one inspired by the spiral staircase in my house and the flight of his imagination which can be described as 'tumble down puppy horror flick'. on similar lines, rashmi mukhi offers 'flip'. since the puppy is only 40 days old and still hasn't found its orientation, walks in reverse gear, mash also calls him 'ghonchu'. suniti and i love the idea of kissing the puppy called 'depp'. (and our mind images vanished the moment pete suggested having to 'clean up after depp'). jugal offered several south park crossed with science names...and my sleep deprived brain does not remember any of the names except that i laughed much.

agni wanted to call it einstein or beyblade before the puppy arrived. after the big arrival and we got cameras trained on agni for his first reaction (we expected sqeals and hugs), we found agni lifting tail etc and inspecting the pup. we lowered the cameras and tried to quell what we thought was his curiosity. but he asked me with a straight face, "mommy, where is his plug point?"

"what plug point?"

"So we can connect it to the computer?" Upon seeing the horror on our faces, he added an explanation,"So we can train it, naa!"

our next vacation is going to be on a farm.


suniti has kindly offered to share the pics of my baby with all of you:
help with names please. and soon.

http://photobucket.com/albums/y191/suniti/Ghochun/

game

looks like you had time,
time on your hands,
my Blue one,
you play such games
with me!

if you thought
any name,
other than yours,
made any sense to me,
you lost!

if you thought
the merry dance
you led me to
would make me lose
faith in you,
try harder!

you’re toying with me
my Blue one
but i am stupid
all i know
is your name,
nothing else matters.

i inhale because of you
exhale when you want me to.
i win because of you.
if i lose, why worry,
i lose only to you.

how we change...

for as long as i can remember, i have always lit a candle on Bruce Lee's birthday...until yesterday.

my keyboard is soggy now. and have walked around with the jeet kune do hand book all day.

it's a change from wandering about the house talking to the Blue one all day, i guess.

contagious

stay away from me,
all you rational folk!
for i have caught a fever
that won’t go away.

smell my burning skin.
my flesh consumed by desire,
turning slowly to ash,
to be blown away at his whim.

watch this fever race
through my veins,
turning everything blue
in its wake.

feel the anger,
fueled by the fever,
i tremble as i rage,
how much longer
do i need to grovel?

you will hear me no more
whispering his name,
again and again.
this fever is brought on
by his cursed name.

a name that tastes bittersweet,
honey to my thirsty lips.
what would become of me
should he choose
to hold me in his arms?

it is quiet tonight...

ice from my veins
flows so blue on to my palm,
you cut deep, my love,
and i know the count
by heart.

your every look,
your every touch,
your every thought,
is reflected in the cold
betrayal cupped in my hands.

don’t be afraid,
i wont tell anyone.
it’s all right now,
see? sleep envelops me.
in her comforting arms
i will be warm again.

bubble

take soap, mix water,
take hanger,
dip in bucket,
blow gently,
wear it at once.
it will go far with you.

i wish people with bubbles
would share their bubbles,
with people who tried
this simple recipe and failed,
just for a little while
maybe,
exchange places.

difficult you say?
impossible even?
bubbles are custom made
as tough to share,
as fingerprints,
or dna even,
a bubble is sacred
designed to protect
only the one person
it was created for.

then why do some people
have them and some not?
why do some suffer so,
and some float through life
protected?

i hate you for the bubble
that keeps you safe,
hate you for not sharing
that safe space,
hate you hiding from storms...

but dammit, it also keeps you
from hugs that could have been yours,
had i been the kind who hugs.

so i am going shopping
maybe i shall find a pin
or maybe i shall find myself
a great big bubble to call my own.



(acknowledge EC's bubble and my envy of the same)

That's Him

soppy

togetherness is catching.

i have started to string
words, just like you do.

hunch my tired shoulders,
exactly as you.

and raise my hands
to cover my eyes
at the end of day,
just like you do.

i also hold on to that phone
as if it were an anchor
connecting me
to some ridiculous reality
as you.

so am hoping
somewhere along this journey
you too find yourself
doing things
just the way i do.

no body

horizontal wrist,
vertical line,
with the ginsu
saved for the
occasion, for the
perfect cut.

bare bottom.
bare back.
feels cool
on the marble floor.
room lit by
flickering neon
from neighborhood
chinese takeaway.

watch,
watch,
watch,
the warmth
pool.

morning

is this my home?
pillows everywhere
except on the bed,
sheets embarrassingly
entangled, uneaten pizza
and champagne,
chocolate on
white Egyptian cotton...

oh is this me?
in a curtain,
and a smile,
and miles of ache,
and sighs to match?

the lillies still smell fresh
i sink into the big
yellow chair
and hug myself.

so it is true!
the ones you hold
in your eternal embrace
also turn blue?

soul flake

attempting to write fiction...on a blog called 'soul flake'.

some of you asked me why i had not posted a link to the blog. technically challenged people ought not to be punished so...and by friends too.

here goes: www.soulflake.blogspot.com

sky people

i used to be like you
wary of those
wayside wanderers,
scared
of their manic mutterings,
their tattered appearance
was distasteful.

i would cringe too,
exactly as you just did,
afraid to catch their germs
hated the smell
that would linger
long after our paths crossed.

but i’ve been touched
by the Blue one now you see,
and i guess most of you
who now cross my path
miss me completely.

you saw me stare at the sky,
bump into street lamps,
you rolled your eyes,
and crossed the street.

you spotted me,
in deep conversation
at crowded coffee shops
and thought me strange.

you did not see him at all!
all you heard was muttering,
you thought too much coffeecino
had driven me crazy.

you bumped into me
at the bookshop,
my nose buried
(literally)
in a brand new
book of love poems,
you moved away
a patronizing smile later.

you don’t know,
how he smells of nutmeg,
of snow lillies,
and the elusive clean
of new books.

i am sorry i missed
the questions
your eyebrow raised.
would i really care
if the sun and the wind
were roughing up my body?

the stars in my eyes,
and the occupant
of my heart, leave no room,
for anyone or anything else.

flu season

use.
and throw.
use.
and throw.
use.
and throw.
use.
and throw.
use.
and throw.

how little it matters
to you, my friend,
whether it’s kleenex
or people.

raw

i feel positively
unpoetic,
because i want you so.

its not just skin.
the need goes deeper
its pace is inelegant
crazed? i don’t know.
but there it is,
frantic, directionless.

this mortal need
to hear your laughter
in the hollow of my bones
once again
is driving irrational
thoughts deeper
into my head.

it feels as good as
that usually uncouth gesture
when one drives
the pointing finger,
manic, and unheeding
of any warning,
uncaring of damage,
into the ear.
to scratch rapidly
that unseen
but heartfelt itch.

it is as satisfying as
that demented stretch
of the neck,
and with closed eyes
curling the tongue
to smoothen
the raw edges
inside the throat, when
voicing your forbidden name.

platitudes

trophy boys don’t ask,
are you bleeding?
don’t call to ask,
do you breathe?

trophy boys should not care
if cold cuts of accusations,
so cruelly served,
on a platter of silence,
were fatal or not.

trophy boys should
stay safe, nine to five,
in a predictable world.

it’s a risk to be out there,
wayward women
might tell all,
in drunken giggly fits.

or the conspiracy
of the stars,
might just reveal,
how angels get drunk
on chocolate
and forgot to fly.

no, no don’t bother
to translate pixels
on the screen
into casual concern.

nothing will happen to you
no finger pointing.
no languishing and decaying
nothing will happen

take comfort in your safety,
and uncross those fingers.
mouth those mundane
‘hello, how are yous’
only when you are ready,
really ready to hear the truth.