Tears mixed with paint

and made a portrait.

Stroke followed stroke

the brushes thinned

the paints caked

yet the picture

was never finished.

My finger poked through the 

dark pool of colors -

and met 

waiting at the other end

my soul.

It wasn’t an art in the making.

No ecstasy in this agony

but stain upon stain

soaked through the long years

rent it apart

My eye stuck 

to the peephole

I watched helplessly

my life replayed -

the loves relived,

the hatreds refueled

the soul remade.

The rooftop view

Once upon a time at an age when my eyelashes weren’t coated with mascara, but with dreams, I remember sitting at the top of an overhead water tank in a house we  rented and gazing at the stars in the night sky and the airplanes that flew above. I imagined the worlds far away, the fabulous destinations these planes and the passengers were headed to wanting to peek into the lit windows that gently sailed beyond. The overhead water tank was my favorite spot for day dreaming. It had a black iron ladder leading up to it and was perched on the terrace or rooftop of the two storied house we lived in. With buildings on either side, particularly a tall apartment on the right , I always thought the house was dwarfed. What lent relief to this stymied existence was my spot.

     Staring into the night lights of the buildings around, feeling invisible cloaked in darkness as I was, I wove stories about the people that darted past the windows or hovered on the balconies. In the humid and hot summer afternoons, if there was nothing else to see, I attempted to count the mangoes in the tree that grew in the yard of the house across the street. I sat there unmindful of the hours crawling. When the sun dozed off the mosquitoes would start congregating over my head. I would occasionally swat at them only to have them gather again for their huddle. My mom would either send a messenger (most likely my sister for my brother was apt to join me) to remind me of the dangers of malaria and dengue fever and all else associated with my winged friends. 

    Every house I ever lived in, I would go up to the rooftop and spend time studying for exams or just thinking about people and events in my life. After all these years I suddenly find myself missing the rooftop view on things, on life. I miss having that heightened perspective  - a detached and distanced view of life around me. I long for the boundless space and solitude.

Madras Memories

Here’s a post dedicated to all mundane things I miss most about Madras. Not surprisingly most of the list is made of food I miss ;-) This list is not organized in any manner or fashion:

1) Elliot’s Beach and the many days of scheduled evening walks with friends

2) Frankie’s stall at Besant Nagar with their yummy treats

3) Malliga poo

4) Ratnagireeshwarar and the Aarupadai Murugan temples

5) Monsoon rains

6) The extremely loud and annoying Sun TV theme music

7) Mylapore Mulagai Bajji

8) Fruit shop on Greams Road Juice shop, Besant Nagar

9) Grand Sweets Thattai and Adyar Ananda Bhavan Paav Bhaaji

10) Saravana Bhavan Pongal

11) Diwali and the special TV programmes

12) Sathyam Cinema Butter Popcorn

13) Corn on the Cob sold outside Food World/Spencer’s

14) Shopping in T Nagar!

15) Wedding feasts!

Cutting down to size

I normally blog my own thoughts. This is the first time I am posting a reblog! Couldn’t help myself :D


Based on contributions from @sree_ganesh and @saffrontrail

Long Weekend…

The long weekend is looming ahead. I plan to relax and enjoy myself….already I am worrying that the weekend will breeze past me and before it starts, it may very well end :( I need a long - ish vacation like Thanksgiving which gives me 4 days of not doing anything :D


Vacations are like the unexpected summer showers in Chennai. They are brief and decidedly unsatisfactory. They fall short of their promise of relief - instead they seem to intensify the heat. There is something very lazy about summers in general. I associate the Indian summer with mangoes and afternoon siestas…..and then of course the occasional power cuts and excessive humidity :P

Work has kept me so busy that I barely get time to check my personal email let alone indulge in blogging or social networking. I am beginning to warm up to the idea of freelancing…takers anybody? As I dawdle along this blog I am reminded of the million things I should be doing at this very minute….at least I have a weekend to look forward to :)

The Unsaid

My aching limbs and dull heart

wake up routinely

not to the sounds of a new dawn

but to the silences of an aging night

I am lulled to sleep

by the promise of security

made by my speeches

only to be rudely awakened

by my silences -

the unsaid rather than the said.

The what-ifs dictate

that I record in my black book of remorse,

every unkind utterance

that ever sprung from my tongue

drowning the feeble rumbles

of the protests of my kind words.

I revisit journeys past

to arrive at destinations rendered lost

by impulsive words.

I attempt in vain

to erase old footprints

of a time when I wore oversized boots

and did not see where or what I trod upon.

A cruel word tossed unthinkingly

severed ties that cannot heal again.

The wound was mine just as much as yours

and I carry not just the pain of my own gash

but nestled within it the hurt I caused.