Isola di’ Burano in Italian – Island of Burano… Island of colours, it should rather be named. Every building joined on its side with another. Every building having an upbeat colour and none having the same shade as its Siamese twin. I wonder if the islanders get together and decide which colour they should paint their walls every year, so that they don’t end up having the same colour as their neighbour’s house.

I just couldn’t stop clicking pics of the buildings. They were so bright and vivid. The whole island was full of almost identical tenements. Each sporting a different colour, and yet the melange managed to be so well blended. Numerous disparate colours in one place, yet so perfect with each other, so perfect together.

I kept gazing at them wonder-eyed. May be because they were so unlike us humans. We too are of the same species, but of different colours – having different cultures, languages, vibes, thoughts and feelings, and so imperfect when together. So imperfect together as a race.

Humans, the biggest let-down of nature.


A Slice of heaven

That tiny piece of heaven,
Tucked away in the heart of a gem called Cherrapunji..
Where you can lie down listening to the waterfalls,
That seem like the music of infinite pearls dropping into oblivion..
Where you can fall asleep staring at a sea of stars,
And you can wake up to the smell of fresh blades of grass..
Where you can peep open your eyes,
To shining diamonds seeping through the gap between trees,
And they draw graffiti on your face,
That look like buds and blossoms..
Then you murmur to yourself;
Nothing the concrete jungle which I call home gives,
Nothing at all can beat the bliss..
Nothing, can make me feel at home like this.


For me, the saddest part about Trump’s win is not immigration reforms or tax code overhaul or anything political like that..

It is the fact that someone can run on a platform of racism, xenophobia & misogyny, and still have hordes of actual ‘human beings with brains’, literally hand him on a platter the most powerful position on the face of the earth!

Does this say volumes about Americans or humanity in general ?!

It doesn’t matter.

There she is; again,

Feeling like a stray dog with an open wound.

Any dirt or fly can self-invite to sit on,

Or even settle down.

The same fly that indulged in faeces a while ago.

The only thing she is able,

Is to stare and shoo,

And in vain.

For who is to bother,

What a woman feels.

‘Cause the ‘beasts’ of this world,

Can do things as they please,

All a woman can, is feel vulnerable,

And shoo them; again.

For him, they are ‘innocent’ pleasures.

But for her, she feels violated, desecrated.

He thinks it’s his prerogative,

To tickle; To tease; To touch;

To do whatsoever he deems right, or even wrong.

As if she is a fallen withered flower,

Even when the flower could actually voice the 2-lettered word,

It doesn’t matter, does it?

For, does a woman have feelings at all !?

Or even a soul, for that matter?

To him, she is some food left open,

To taste at least, if not devour.

He may brush his body past hers; deliberately.

Lay his hands on her skin; repulsively.

Anywhere; Any place; Anytime.

The Bus; The College; The Office.

Even when she says NO,

It doesn’t matter, does it?

He can still touch her,


It’s not a rape. It’s just a grope;

It doesn’t matter.


8 am, Umroi Army Station Guest House, Shillong

I find myself perched on the verandah of this right-out-of-a-painting cottage,
Listening to my favourite slow tracks,
And the rustling of leaves when the wind comes kissing them..
They seem like they are hushing secrets of some distant past,
And I can’t help but wonder how they have an uncanny semblance,
To the racing waves of the sea.
May be, just may be, if we listen closely,
The whole universe talks the same language,
And we just never listen enough,
Or with all our heart, to know that.

I gaze beyond the narrow white stone paved paths,
The tiny green shrubs and the fresh grass sprouting from the manicured lawns,
Through the window between two pine trees in the distance,
To the lovely long array of the same ones.
I find myself wondering,
Isn’t nature and music the perfect usherers of creativity,
And I realise they are the mentors of the pen that I wield, and none other.
They are the ones who always came whispering tales in my ears,
And to my heart.
In this moment all I want is to just be here,
And never leave.
Just feel this high that I’m climbing,
When the flow of thoughts come hit me,
As I inhale every gush of this pristine air..
And all I can do is breathe them out,
As beautiful strings of letters.


My Superhero

Sometimes I turn around..

And gaze at the paths I have tread,
The stones that pained my feet,
The thorns that bled my flesh,
The currents I swam across,
The mountains I crawled over,

And I realize..

The only hero I ever had,
The face I kept searching in the crowds for,
The forever invisible, invincible super hero,
Who swooped down and saved me at every turn,
That red and yellow cape..

It was always, me.

Politics in the land of hypocrites

The thing I have noticed about BJP supporters these days is that, they come in 3 kinds:

1. The optimist – One who was fed up with years of UPA rule and the scams that ensued. The one who was optimistic of BJP and Modi being the change that India vehemently needs that he vowed his allegiance to BJP trusting the Utopian picture they painted as our future.

2. The fan – One who is an ardent fan of Modi, who bought into the whole ‘Gujarat model’ a marketing gimmick trumped up by his portfolio consultant, Mr.Prashant Kishor (who later became the strategy consultant of  Nitish Kumar in Bihar and scripted his success as well). The sad soul who fell for “Modi ke chakkar” – apt usage by one of the poor tour guides I met in North India, who now regrets having voted for BJP.

3. The believer – One who supports BJP because he is a hardcore temple goer, Hindu propagandist and believes in Hindu supremacy. If not superficially, but at least deep down, below the surface he believes that India is Hindustan and not Bharat. (Also that all Muslims should go to Pakistan.. and may be even that all Christians should go to Jerusalem, Buddhists to Tibet, Atheists to China, may be 😉 )

While most people, including 1 & 2 would agree that 3 is the most dangerous kind around, there are some similarities I could draw up among these three in these trying times of political hypocrisies.

All three,

  • Get extremely offended if we say anything against their beloved ‘Modiji’ or his work so far.
  • Get very defensive of anything and everything BJP does; when it incites communalism or even when it is just ridiculously preposterous. They go to the ends of the earth to support Modi and his blunders.
  • Rarely have any valid and factual responses to genuinely critical questions we ask about the Modi regime. It is always beating around the bush when we expect a rationale, which is extremely frustrating.
  • When questioned about the Modi’s or BJP leaders’ hypocritical statements that they made previously as opposed to their actions now, or when presented with solid facts and figures that shows Modi’s rule as highly questionable, they realise they are cornered and end up either attacking us personally with silly inanities, or deleting our comments and sometimes even the post altogether.
  • And some stoops down to the level of completely blocking us or deleting us from their Facebook even. (I guess following the modus operandi of their demigod Modi – or do I daresay despot 😐 –  by shutting out anyone who raises voice against him)

Time and again, I find this a very curious case only among many BJP and Modi proponents, which I haven’t seen in Communist, Congress or AAP supporters.  The symptoms and characteristics are so very similar in each case. Especially the last 2. 😀

And hence the sudden urge to write this.
Sorry if any ‘Sanghis’ or ‘Bhakths’ got offended. I know  the delete and block button isn’t very far for you. Please feel free. 😉

Sneaky li’l things

Once in a while, you lose something of yours, mostly something small – a hairclip, a key, a ring (even a passport :/ ). It just vanishes from sight and no plausible, pragmatic explanation will suffice. It’s almost like they snuck out of your possession, crawled into a worm hole and jumped across to another universe!

Boho is hot; I love him, why not…

Whose tad too bohemian clothes were at times an abomination..
Whose intermittent evil laughter wasn’t all that necessary..

And Charlie,
Who would jump into the sea, leap off the rooftop, punch out faces, take any risk, to save a stranger’s life..
Who would come up with the sweetest, rarest things to surprise a few he barely knew..
Who breathes on the high from the smiles he spreads..

How can a girl of substance not fall in love with Charlie?
And yet, some birdbrains wonder why Charlie is magic and magnetic…

‪#‎Charlie‬ ‪#‎Movie‬ ‪#‎DQ‬ #Dulquer Salmaan

The Malayali mind

Today while on the road , I was caught in a tiny hold-up. Something had happened and the cars weren’t moving. We saw some people leaning over a bridge and talking in hushed tones. While my car was stalled I asked one of the passersby what was happening, and he replied in a rather amused tone, “A guy and a girl jumped into the lake” and he topped that up with a chuckle and a glint in his eyes. And my immediate thought was, if a guy had tried committing suicide all by himself, would this person’s tone still be the same. Or would he have the alarmed and concerned citizen’s voice that said, “You know, a guy jumped into the lake!”. Knowing the society that i’ve grown up in, i’m almost sure that would be the case. So why is it always a thing of amusement when anything concerning a couple happens? Be it friends, lovers, spouses or siblings, it is automatically assumed to be an ‘illicit’ relation, it is immediately judged. I wonder, with what kind of predicament would the insinuations, suggestive tones and lewd remarks actually start to fade? Apparently even something as serious as suicide doesn’t make the cut.