Monday, October 19, 2009

a short short story

Dedicated to Dr Binayak Sen

They had no manners, the police people. They didn’t knock on the door. Instead, they knocked it down. Maybe they didn’t consider our door as a door. It was a poor door. It broke into three and a half pieces. The half piece landed near my face. I slammed my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. If I had ear- lids, I would have shut them too. The first sound that I heard was that of a coconut falling on mud followed by the scream of Kakka. More coconuts started to fall and kakka’s screaming stopped. I got the courage to open my left eye and saw the police people kicking Kakka in the stomach. Red liquid trickled out of his mouth. It was not betel juice .Mamma started to scream when the police people started to chase her. It is better to play police and robber outside the house, I thought. Her scream came to an end when the police people stuffed her mouth with her red blouse. Mamma would have closed my eyes like she does when “grown-up-people-scenes” comes on the TV screen.

It was Doctor uncle who gifted our village with a TV.

He gave a speech about Gandhiji and then switched on the TV and everyone clapped their hands. Well almost everyone because I didn’t. But that was because I had three stupid monkeys in my hands. It was a prize for reciting Vaishnava Janato, the song that Gandhiji liked very much. When Doctor uncle gave me that statue of three monkeys, someone took a picture. Doctor uncle tussled my long hair and told me that Gandhiji was the father of our nation and I asked him who the mother of our nation was, and he laughed and the whole village started to laugh, and I felt stupid. That was one gift I didn’t like much. Why should monkeys close their eyes and ears and mouth? Monkeys are no doubt, stupid animals.

Police people are more stupid that monkeys. Otherwise why should they drag me by my hair and push my face into the photo of Doctor Uncle, and ask,

“Where are you hiding him?”

They caught Doctor uncle because he was not hiding from the stupid police monkeys.

The village people saw Doctor uncle being dragged into the blue van and they heard him say “Satyameva Jayathe”, which means Truth shall Win. But when the TV people asked them about it, they said that they saw nothing. They felt bad inside. Then the newspaper people showed the village people so many newspapers which said that Doctor uncle has won a big prize for being a goodie good man , the village people said that they have not heard anything about it. But they felt good inside.

I still have that photo of Doctor uncle smiling like a good little boy with a big long beard, giving me that stupid three monkey prize.

One day, I will go to that big jail and knock on the jail doors because I have good manners, you know, and I will ask the jail people
“Where are you hiding him? “

If they give him back to me, then I will bring him back to my village and in front of all the village people, I will give him back that stupid statue of the three monkeys, and I am sure that he will throw it into the river.

Maybe then he will tell me who the mother of my nation is.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

spiritual awakenings

spiritual awakenings

bouts of boozing,
i try to brew
exotic concoctions.
cocktails of philosophy.
half a peg of marxian whisky
with a double large lenin gin
ignites your proletarian pyrotechnics.
trotskian vodka on the rocks
is insipidly sober.
but when i fill it to the brim with
social fascist soda,
the drink starts to fizz.
one gulp
wipe your stalin moustache
a lick of krushchevian ketchup
your cold brezh-nerves are ready
to start a prole-war.
bubbles of discontent
gain size
reach the brim of your brain.
but then
hey peristro!
you become
the bubble bursts.
that is the real
revolutionary spirit!
ha ha ha

hangovers are forever!

Sunday, April 26, 2009



I was eating my Roberto Bolano for breakfast…that guy tasted good…too good…a hot and spicy latino word-blast…2666 soup mixed with CHILE sauce , whetted my alpha-beta-appetite …after swallowing some 50 odd pages, I heard a scream from my wife and a banshee-wail from my kid…oh yeah…too much Bolano for breakfast was showing its savage effects…I was transforming into a green gringo…so I stopped my breakfast after getting a promise from those two that I would be served Umberto Eco for lunch and Murakami for dinner after dark…

Friday, April 24, 2009


my generation
had a vision...
which turned out
to be a grand illusion

Wednesday, April 22, 2009


the tragedy of the indian left is that it is only just a leftover of the ideal left...or what is left of the leftist movement...the left used to be always right in its political stands...but today...without any such stands, the left is moving towards the right...and...the danger is that...leftists are finding this shift unbearable...and yet...they obey in the name of discipline...

my motto is...DISSENT OR DESCEND

Saturday, April 18, 2009



first bite
on the blood red apple.
indecent exposure
of innocent flesh
in off-white.
the edges turn brown
and sepia tinted sin
seeps in.

with a throbbing throat
watches the slimy serpent
slowly sliding out.

the apple of my eye
places her blood red lips
on my bulging jugular vein.
i am in heaven # 7
love is… insane

Monday, April 6, 2009


thin king

sayin' i'm insane

idiot in a box

dawn 2

stilettos of april sun
pierced the palm leaf roof
and sliced the entrails
of my ram shackled hut.
crumbled and cracked
the cow dung smeared floor
disclosed its original hues.
chrome yellow here,
forest green there,
greasy camouflage outfit
of a guerrilla warrior

dawn 1

dawn 1

at forty past five,
day broke.
millions of porcelain pieces
spewed from heaven
crash landed on
the wretched earth.
nebulous clouds like
fetid molten porridge stew
lay splattered across the sky,
offerings for the oracles of mom.
and then…
the crows came.
a cacophony of caw-caw,
waving shreds of black flags
against the breaking dawn.
silhouettes of malice and mayhem
casting chaotic shadows in motion
upon dew-dripping green floor.