My Year in Books 2024!

It's the time of the year..to count my blessings? Nope, to count my books 📚

Ok, blessings too. But mainly books. The books I have read, the adventures they took me on, the thoughts they left me with. Here are a few -

📙 I devised a “reading philosophy” 

This year had a lot going on, work-wise, bandwidth-soaking events that often left me with little space for “high-concept” reading, so I devised a system where I interspersed the heavies with some light escapes.

I stumbled across the famous (fictional) Sicilian Inspector, Montalbano, in the form of a recommendation from a friend. Another dear friend had just moved to Sicily and it seemed like a meant-to-be situation. I had also been enjoying the Japanese detectives Kaga and Galileo, and who could say no to our favourite British octogenarians solving murders every Thursday from peaceful Kent. As a Marvel-esque galaxy of Detectives gathered in my mind, I conceived of an ambitious project – to read Detective fiction from around the world!

Well, it may not be that ambitious, but it certainly was interesting. Thrillers have a way of capturing time and space like few books do, and for the price of a crime I got to read about local cultures, politics and food. So much food 😋

So here I am and my latest pick is Inspector Chen Cao, a poetic crime-solver in a China of the 90s. A China a-straddle lingering Maoism and Deng Xiaoping’s shiny new reforms. A perfect mix of sugar and spice and everything nice. 

📙 I started Audible

This year my “reading” went multi-media, physical books, kindle ones and Audible. From never wanting to read anything but physical, I now actively pick books for each medium. But I have a system, physical books are for keeps – beautifully written fiction or mind-opening non-fiction, kindle is for light-fiction and audible is for experimental non-fiction. 

My first book on Audible was “Kitchen Confidential”, an autobiography by famous chef Anthony Bourdain, narrated by him too. And it was a roller-coaster of a listen, across his early childhood that resulted in a culinary career, to the underbelly of this world, the rough, tough and often-rejected-from-mainstream-society men and women who find their way into kitchens across America, serving food and experiences to oblivious patrons. 

📙 “Where did you come from, where did you go” or I read across Genres 

I read across history, investigative non-fiction, evolutionary science and history, science, parenting, finance and many more genres. A few notables below -

In “Smoke and Ashes” Amitav Ghosh took me on a journey of the poppy plant, the story of Opium in the 19th century, colonial forces using it to exploit a nation (India) and destroy another (China). He ended with the mind-bender: was it humans that used the Poppy plant for their ends or the other way around, the plant using our basest instincts for survival and propagation?

I read about the on-going opioid crisis in America (hello again poppy) in “Empire of Pain”  and in “Cobalt Red”, about the disturbing account of miners in Congo unearthing Cobalt under atrocious conditions to power our technology addiction. 

“A Crack in Creation: Gene Editing and the Unthinkable Power to Control Evolution” which exactly as the title sounds, explained how we hold the power to edit our genes in our hands today, a prospect more revolutionary than AI and as simple. 

In “Anxious Generation”, a MUST-read for parents with young or teenage children, I learnt how unbridled access to the internet, coupled with a childhood increasingly spent away from the real world, can lead to terrible consequences. 

I learned about the 5 fundamental breakthroughs that have paved the path for human intelligence from single-cellular organisms to modern humanity in “⁠A Brief History of Intelligence”, and in “Early Indians: The Story of Our Ancestors and Where We Came From”, the fascinating 65000-year old history of the homo sapien, our migrations, genealogies, the DNA that divides us and the common origins that unite us. Across a subcontinent as diverse and rich as South Asia and in these polarising times, we would do well to remember what Tony Joseph leaves us with: We are all Indians. We are all migrants.

I read Andre Agassi’s “Open” and Salman Rushdie’s “Knife”, the former a complex testament to the sacrifices demanded by world-class competitive sports, and the latter a deeply touching narrative of the seconds, minutes, hours, days and months of one’s life right after tragedy strikes, such as it did Rushdie on that Chautauqua stage where he was stabbed 15 times. 

📙 I went time-zone hopping

As I collected travel miles this year, from Singapore to Berlin to Dubai, I also did my best to pick local authors and stories. From “Flawless: Lessons in Looks and Culture from the K-Beauty Capital” to “Chess Story” by Stefan Zweig, I shuttled across time-zones and timelines. 

I went into the past with Ravindranath Tagore’s “Gora”, a timeless tale of nations and nationalism, religion and its rigidities, mores versus morals. As relevant today as it was in the early 1900s.

📙 I read books about work 

And finally in my year-end "light fiction" mode I realized once again that there no such thing. 

Much like Hermione’s bag of plenty, a book-any book is a bottomless storehouse of goodies. How much we take depends on us, our moods, which way our receptors are facing, our willingness to go deep or not. 

I found myself reading stories of people burnt out, starting again, finding a renewed purpose or lack of, liberating themselves from the conditioning of a lifetime and lifetimes, in the form of these amazing books about books, namely “Welcome to the Hyunam-Dong Bookshop” and “What you are looking for is in the Library”. 

As somebody working to unravel the new definitions of work, I realized that these books too offered glimpses into the new ways that work was seen today. 

**

This is me. Has all this reading transformed me? I cannot quite say how but I know it has. 

Ending with the happy sight of my beautiful-wonderful-new (now half a year old) bookcase. A life-long dream come to fruition. 

Here’s to all your bookish and non-bookish dreams. May 2025 be the year they come true!

A Womanly nap

Yesterday I took a nap

In the middle of the day

Where I got the audacity

I cannot quite say

My cook tip-toed in

Concerned about the daal

That I had forgotten to order

Sleep had me in its thrall

What to make she fretted

Quite upset you see

Such top-notch decisions

Can only be taken by me

She approached my husband

Who was watching TV

Together they found the courage

To come and awaken me

..from this unseemly nap

Come out of nowhere

Leaving matters helter-skelter

A situation most unfair

The daal got ordered

(by husband after I gave a go-ahead)

the dinner menu was conveyed

before I got out of bed

Then I looked at my phone

And lo and behold!

There was a deluge of calls

I was ashamed and ready to fold!

These honourable creditors

Were beating down my door

I had promised them my time

And instead, I’d been a’snore!

I quickly called them back

Assuaging and contrite

(No naps were mentioned)

And all was soon al-right

I was back in fighting form

Willing to do my best

To atone for the past hour

For daring to - rest

Being Human

I look at my son

And wonder 

What to tell him

When the time ever comes

About what it is to be human

Is it to push ahead 

With an evolutionary logic

Fittest, strongest

other forms of ests

Is it to give in

To the tenets of the tribe 

the wisdom of the collective

Whose only goal is self-preservation

Or is it to venture

To go where none have 

To the moon and beyond

To pay no heed to limitations

That our bodies impose 

Is it to think

Or to feel

To endure

Or to evolve

To stay rooted in a past

That no longer seems nurturing

Or to look to a future

Where we are less of what we have been

But so much more 

Is it to love 

Under the light of a moon

That sees no difference

This side that side

All the same 

Is being human in our dna

Or is it in our imaginations?

Does it live in our primate-primitive selves

In the zero-sum game of survival 

Or in that which makes it all worth it?

We write the rules 

We break them

Which of these is really us?

Remember me

Don’t remember me when I go

For my smile
For my grace
For my simplicity
Or cheerful face

I have none of these
Or even if I do
These are not what
I want to be to you

Remember me

For my fire
For my dreams
For my fight
my extremes

For my roughness
For my toughness
For my edges,
prickly hedges

For my spirit
that can’t unsee
Inequities that reach
far beyond me

For my arrogance
that I can change
a tiny piece of the world
I know it's strange

Remember me for my strangeness
For being a misfit
For standing up
when I could sit

Oh and yes, remember me for my love

Measured not in
adoring looks
Nor sumptuous cooks
Few lavish presents
or evenings pleasant
And a home and hearth
to call our own?
Doesn’t interest me
If the truth be known

Remember me for my love

a love that is simple
with the simple creed
that with you beside me
I have everyone I need

The Pursuit of Joy

I need a dose of daily joy

Like tonic for my soul

Like Fevikwik for broken parts

that makes me feel so whole

No matter how bad it gets

Always keep handy a vice

A time-out from your daily grind

And that’s my best advice

It need not be a vice you know

Just something that is special

A sunset, a bath, a phone call

to buttress-harness-trestle

Happiness is hard

Too many parameters at play

Difficult to evoke at will

Impossible to make it stay

But good ol’ joy ain’t that way

It’s like instant noodles

Boil it stir it slurp it

Dopamine in oodles

Yes yes do fix your life

In big and lasting ways

But keep a minute for dear old joy

It’ll keep the blues at bay

What being a woman means

To be a woman

Is to see no difference

And treat myself as such

To hold myself

To the same expectations

Inside the house and outside

To make the first move

To punch above my weight

To stand tall even in a sea of giants

To see the extra layers

And teach myself not to cringe

Someone’s learning by watching me

To let the son know it’s ok to cry

Important to nurture

Necessary to ask

To think no ill

Especially of other women

Whose shoes I haven’t walked in

But to carry the weight

Atlas-like, for all women

I cannot shrug.

For my sisters and daughters

And certainly for my son

I will define who women are

Love is a verb

Love is this and that

So we are told

It will happen to you they say

And we are totally sold

So great is this thing

It will change you my friend

You will feel all the feels

For all of time till it ends

Happiness will be yours

When this manna does drop

You will harvest forever

This bountiful crop

So imagine my surprise

when this promised land

turned out to be a mirage

of an oasis in the sand

Love is not a thing

Love is not a thing

It’s not fate or fact

I daresay I now know

That love is an act

Love is an action

Made of many tiny beats

of care, of caresses

of attentions on repeat

it’s a smile when you’re tired

a kindness when you’re beat

it’s to hold an umbrella

amidst the blazing heat

it’s a decision that you make

and renew on every day

to be an anchor and a safeguard

a refuge in stormy bays

to take the bad with the good

the ugly with the smooth

somedays it’s a struggle

and that’s the simple truth

Nevertheless, you climb that hill

not only for the view

for the company, the conversations

and no one else will do

It may not be easy

and many-splendored every day

love is work

a resolution to stay

So, yes, it’s fabulous and fine

And all very superb

But one must remember

That love is a verb

Be half a woman

I wish a wish

on your behalf

that on this day

you get to be half

Half as driven

Half as intent

Half as amazing

50% percent

Be less

have fewer still,

tasks to do

goals to fulfil

Be a one-tasker

why not I say

one must experience

this too for a day

Go lock yourself

in a room or such

a retreat they call it

not asking for much

Shakespeare did it

(Austen could not)

did the kids eat

was never bethought

And when those kids walk in

look another way

run if you must

go quick I say

Run like the wind

no sweat no worry

lie low think nothing

be ordinary

Be ordinary

a standard issue human

oh and barf at anyone

calling you super-woman

Be half a woman

Be half a woman

for a full day

it won’t be easy

but try it today

#womensday2022

Gehraaiyan

What does it take

To go from blurry lines

to stygian blind

- a pinch of color

Of the wrong kind

A squeeze,

a hint

of looming chill

an undulating road

deceptively downhill

we move around

with masks on

facades of civility

quickly shorn

quick to crack

like crème brulee

to reveal the horrors

we keep at bay

the slope is slippery

the soul is mud

for cunning craftsmen

to mould with blood

to tattoo with needles

with poisonous tips

our dark fates

in hellish scripts

history has shown

many times over

tis true it’s true

and so what must

we do

fight today

the minor tweaks

the casual stripping

the harmless leaks

to snip and nip

this thing in the bud

this evil out there

but also in our own blood

Horcruxes

 

I have many bottles

they sit on a shelf

they are quite pretty

I made them myself

They hold different things

some fizz some settle

some yearn to be let out

like steam from a kettle

I will free them one day

let them fly float fall

vanish like the mist

or take over it all

Just not now my sweets

now’s not the time

not for a little while more

it is not a crime

it is not a crime

I am just too busy

there are things to be done

no time to be dizzy

With laughter and sorrow

loneliness and glee

I will feel you tomorrow

I will. You will see

I will feel every feeling

every last one of you

let you rain over me

and soak me through and through

You must have patience

and wait for that day

till then you are safe

till then you’re okay

And I am okay too

..

I have many bottles

They sit on a shelf

They are horcruxes actually

Parts of my self

I see you

I never took my eyes

off of you

Everything you did

and still do

Is seen

Yes, I see your struggles

but how you're special too

How you create magic

Every day is new

with you

I saw you when you couldn't move

but tried your best

Who then knows you better than me

who knows your dreams, your zest

I see your shyness

your hesitations

I see your stubbornness

your frustrations

But I also see your smile

that lights up the room

I revel in your curiosity

that dispels all gloom

They say mothers are biased

but no,

mothers are the ones

who really know

you.

As I watch you learn and grow

find yourself, find your crew

my ardent wish is that you believe

in yourself, as much as I do

Strawberries on a summer evening

Hello excuse me

Can I be a nothing

no goal no destination

whiling away hours

at some faraway station

watching paint dry

or even the grass grow

wealthy of time

the best kind you know?

Circadian rhythms

restful days

no clocks must exist

vestigial I say

Do I have to earn it

this time abound

or is one born

just - less - bound

by the need to do

to experience to feel

to love to believe

to hurt to heal

I like it

don’t get me wrong

it’s me my choices

my beat my song

but sometimes,

not very often

I wish I could shrug

I wish I could soften

Lead with my heart

feet right behind

take a trip to nowhere

with nothing to find

and no one to find me

but me myself and I

some strawberries maybe

on a summer evenin’ in July

An Imperfect Mother

When I was a kid

Mother was the biggest word I knew

Someone who existed 

Just for you

When I became one myself

My heart split into two

But one thing didn't change

I had dreams for myself too

Dreams and goals

The need for time-outs too

A mother is 24/7

But ain't she human too?

My son makes me happy

When he holds me tight

But I make my own happiness too

I have that right

The right to keep a part to myself

For my own pleasure and pain

The part that is Amazonian

That knows no rein

My Year in Books - the Read and Unread

This was not a good year in books, quantitatively speaking.

With all the misfortunes that the year brought, a (very) minor one for me was that I could not prioritise reading. I did prioritise relaxation, much needed in the midst of terribly long days, but it's interesting to me that reading did not make the cut. 

For the most part. 

I did read a couple of books that had me completely engrossed, and when something is that compelling, that in itself is relaxing. Isn't it? 

So here goes the list of my meagre accomplishments, literature-wise. 

1) The Milkman by Anna Burns

The year started with me continuing with this (deceptively) hard hitting book set against the backdrop of 'the trouble' years in Ireland. It was educational of course as all such books tend to be; while I knew the outline of this particular conflict in history, the book filled in the details, the colour, the minutiae of living in a war-torn country and brought the people undergoing it right into my living room. But most of all, what struck me about this book, was the writing.

The writing is unlike anything I have encountered. It reads like someone's thoughts, dark, unforgiving, incomplete. There is a fluidity to it, thoughts don't have beginnings or endings. They morph from one to the other, in between they jump timelines and astronomical spaces. And the writer has captured all of this in beautifully crafted sentences that are simple and dangerous, all at once. 

I highly recommend this book, and while it is not an easy read, for all lovers of the language and amateur scholars of contemporary world history, it is an enriching one. 

2) The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa

At some point a couple of years ago, I came across a list of books from authors spanning countries. And I decided to read some of the ones that seemed interesting to me from that list, countries that I didn't know much about. I did end up reading quite a few. 

One that has stayed with me is 'The Dinner' by Herman Koch. It is a brilliant portrayal of the palpable racial tensions in a country as seemingly progressive as the Netherlands. At least that was my take-away; there are different ones. 

This Yoko Ogawa book was not part of this list, and I didn't pick it up to learn more about the country. I mean, one can always do with knowing more about any country, especially one as mysterious and multi-faceted as Japan, but one has read other Japanese authors. The story simply appealed to me, a human interest story of two people from very different backgrounds coming together to forge a bond. Maybe similar in intent to A man called Ove by Fredrick Backman, but as per me a far more original storyline. 

It's a book about a genius math professor and his relationship with his housekeeper and specifically, her son. It's an understated study in how despite several odds that include a memory impediment (the professor's memory resets every 15 minutes) and completely different backgrounds and areas of expertise, love and affection still germinate. I learnt some maths also while reading it, but am afraid have forgotten most of it. Memory is a strange thing, it remembers what it wants to, and I do not believe it holds the study of Mathematics in very high regard. 

This book is not really Japanese to me. This story could have played out anywhere, the themes of tragedy, love, friendship, loss are universal. 

**

Both these books pre-dated the pandemic, I certainly could not have drummed up the resolve to read The Milkman during the (worst of the) pandemic. Those were the days when we were playing maid cum nanny cum cook along with participating in weekly episodes of People vs Maggots (we played the people). Point being, we had our own troubles. 

3) Troubled Blood by Robert Galbraith

By far my favourite book of the year, which I had been looking forward to for more than a year. For those of you who don't know this series, it's a crime thriller-romance series by JK Rowling, writing under the pseudonym of Galbraith (which didn't remain a secret for very long), and as that, you would have to know that the characterisations are brilliant.

The stories are told through the central characters of a surly detective, and his stereotype-beating partner, also his love interest. The duo solve dark and difficult crimes and underpinning all of their detection endeavours is very potent romantic tension. They are both flawed, have serious baggage, some of which is current; as we go through the multiple books, we see them work through their issues, and move towards each other. 

The crimes they solve deserve their own description. These are not mere murders and robberies; these are gruesome. Killers with motives that range from deep-seated and violent misogyny to psychopathy people these pages, as do mutilations, ritual killing and serial murders. I realise I may not be painting a very attractive picture of the books, but the point I am trying to make, albeit badly, is that these crimes are very much a reflection of the times we live in, maybe too much so. 

So I finished this book, all 944 pages of it, fairly quickly, even in the thick of the pandemic, and while I was suffering from a sprained back. The back being out of commission certainly helped. 

**

At this point I must reveal that I did read more books, but they didn't make the cut for this list owning to the fact that I could not finish them. One of those was Poor  Economics by the Nobel Laureates Abhijit Banerji and Esther Duflo. Needless to say am sure, it's a very well written book, with both wide and deep research of their own and well-studied accounts of others, concluding in insights that cut quick to the bone. The book has been written to help people and institutions understand the nature of poverty to be able to take the right measures to eradicate it. While many of us may not be in a position to offer solutions or implement the ones they outline, I do think we would all benefit from reading it. We would benefit from realising how many privileges we live amidst and that we take for granted. These luxuries make it far easier for us make rational decisions that further improve the quality of our lives. 

From everything I have seen so far, it seems very much so that many things in life come with potent feedback loops, creating cycles that either entrap or liberate. And while many of us would like to believe we are self-made, it couldn't be further from the truth. 

The second book I started reading and didn't complete is called Babu Bangladesh by Numair Atif Chowdhury. It's a book that aims to reveal Bangladesh to the world, in all its glory and muck. Taking the narrative path of following one individual's life and mysterious disappearance, it touches upon a broad swathe of events and incidents that make up Bangladesh's checkered political history.

While both books are exceptional, I have to confess I decided to give myself a break. I came to a logical point with Poor Economics, and changed paths to lesser pursuits. It was an exacting exercise reading it, both intellectually and emotionally.   

4) Meet me at the Museum by Anne Youngson

While not lesser in a derogatory sense, this book promised to be an easier read. It was that, and perhaps more.

Epistolary in nature, it takes two completely different individuals and draws a straight line between them. Even though the nature of their correspondence changes dramatically from the first letter to the last, what remains constant is the undertone of reflection, of revisiting or perhaps meeting for the first time, questions of purpose and meaning, of love and the flight of it. 

I could imagine having this conversation, but I envied these people the time they had at their disposal to write such lengthy and thought-provoking missives to each other. Most of my messages to other people nowadays, and in fact for a long time, tend to be transactional in nature. Well, at least I don't grapple with existential questions on a day to day basis. Not anymore. I am lucky.

5) Maybe you Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb

Mental health has popped into my my conversations, both internal and those with others, many times in the last couple of years, and I am glad I could take a deeper dip into the topic by way of this book. A memoir of sorts, it's written by a bonafide therapist. The author makes it very interesting, and it reads much like fiction. What makes me happiest though is that it makes the point very well that therapy is effective and in many cases, necessary. 

Littered with technicalities, which unlike in other fields of treatment are relatively easy to understand, the book itself also serves as therapy, if you are so inclined. Some of the frameworks she mentions are self-administer-able, and I, for one, felt like I had a better grasp of myself after reading it. 

6) The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

I must confess that by this point, I wanted to hit the 6 books mark. There was a symmetry to it and arguably, some sort of face saving. 

So I approached the task in a methodical way, I checked out the most popular books on Goodreads, found one I liked the sound of, and bought it. The Midnight Library came into my life as a statistic, but it stays being so much more.

The book tells the story of a gifted individual who well into adulthood lives among the debris of her past dreams, and realising she has lost it all, decides to take a drastic step. But then something wonderful, miraculous happens, and we spend the rest of the book learning about and living through it. 

It is a bit in the paranormal realm, explores concepts of choice and human potential, and keeps you guessing till the end. At first I thought it was a bit simplistic; we all know that reversing a choice you regret can potentially change everything in your life, including the bits you like. But it got more complex and interesting as the chapters went past.

I came away thinking that making peace with the choices we end up regretting is one of the best gifts we can give to ourselves. And the hope that we can be great, in spite of not feeling, looking or behaving like it in the longest time, is what keeps the humanity alive. Inspite of everything. 

We all needed to hear that. Especially this year. 

In anticipation of 2021

As the year from hell winds up, my thoughts move to what the next one brings. With anticipation.

Well, yes. The world will not magically heal at the stroke of the midnight hour. We will awaken to more or less the same quantities of life and freedom that we went to bed with. 

But the new year will bring some change. Be it in the form of vaccines, or herd immunity, or in the absence of both, an inching back towards a mid-way sort of life. Wherein fearlessly we shall once again charge ahead, armoured with sanitisers and masks, in the way of swords and shields. 

The new year will bring some change. Because we may want to change. To kit ourselves with new attitudes and resolves, some of which will hopefully see light of day. And so what if these flames are short-lived, they will have burnt brightly, and we would be the better for having thought of them than not at all. 

Yes, the new year will bring some change.

I have spent this year compartmentalising myself. Work, kid, myself. Three boxes, made with non-porous material, leakage-proof. But as I see my son grow up, see him add a few more strains of comprehension, new forms of self-expression, every single day, I have hope he will start to understand and accept me in my entirety. It would be amiss of me to not mention that the nanny who arrived in my home two weeks ago, a vision it seems to me at times as fantastical as Mary Poppins herself, will be a key factor driving this merger (of my different selves). I have already had a taste of it as I sit back, feet up, book in hand, having our odd mother-son conversations, while she, bless her, feet firmly on ground, sits poised to chase after him when he tires of our conversation or runs out of vocabulary. I am still getting used to it. I do not want to get too used to it. 

Speaking of odd mother-son conversations, my favourite ones happen in the mornings, just before the day unleashes itself, when both of us stand at our window and watch the world go by. We speak of the trees and the cars, the people and their dogs, the flowers that fall to earth and make it so colourful, catching my color-loving son's eye, and the crows that sit on them wires. In these conversations, I try to pass on the habit of imagination, of wondering where those crows could be flying to, and making up answers that lead to stories that Google search would never throw up. 

I want to continue these, even on days when the clock seems to be running at double speed. 

I recently came across, what was to me, a hard-hitting question. A throwaway mention in a book written by a therapist-author about her life and experiences. This question made me look at myself anew. Who am I? What do I want? What's in my way? 

What's in my way? Many things. Mostly self-created. 

I think I will dwell on this one for a bit this year. 

And I will write. Every day. Not always for public consumption. But never the less. It is a part of me that I have let atrophy. Especially this year as I lost self-expression. Come to think of it, it's not that I didn't have things to say, but some sort of congealment took place, a thickening of sorts; and this mass of thoughts and feelings just sat there inside me like Dalda in the winters. It could not would not thaw.  

And to be honest, I didn't try very hard. I gave it space. 

But 2021 will be different. I will try harder. 

This is not a plan. Resolves? Maybe. More like wishes. Or quick little post-its to myself, to remind myself to look around and smile more often this coming year. 

**

Get back to writing again

 It’s 6 o clock on a Saturday. The regular crowd shuffles in. 

Existential Aunty ascends her throne and looks around. She notices a new one, a smart little dashing fellow in a beret, he looks eager and full of beans.

“Err, are those coffee beans?”, asks Sr VP, Substances and Spirits.

E Aunty gives him a glare and he transmogrifies into a ‘Keep Calm and Have Coffee’ poster.

“That cheeky b*st*rd”, thinks E Aunty to herself before turning her attention to the beret donning newbie. 

“Hello, and who might you be?”, she asks in her best impersonation of someone who is interested in the answer. 

The newbie looks like he is about to explode with joy at having been summoned, by the old matriarch herself, and pipes up in a voice that carries as far as his big toe. 

Which is not very far at all.

“Umm, are you on mute?”, says a sleepy looking Octopus in a t-shirt that says ‘Humor, Me’. 

“Whaaa? Aren’t you on sabbatical”, E Aunty looks at the Octopus in some surprise but is only met with some not-so-gentle snoring. She shakes her head and writes ‘Do not renew contract’ in her daily planner. 

“You, Mr Beret, speak louder please. We don’t have all day.”

Newbie clears his throat, looks around nervously and this time, louder, “It is the will of the people that we must start again.” 

“Start what again, you mysterious but well-dressed stranger?”, E Aunty can’t help but admire the trendy charcoal vest he has on. She sighs and thinks back to the days she used to have trendy things, and the will to care.

He seems to have anticipated this question, and reaching into the very same vest, produces a scroll. “This is a change.org petition, and as you can see it has been signed by all of us.”. His voice seems to have gotten stronger.

“Yes yes, ok. But what does it say?”, says E Aunty, and as an after-thought, “And who are you?”, and as an after-afterthought, “And for that matter, who are any of us?”

The man is undeterred by these diversions. Over the course of this interchange, he seems to have grown in size, in height and girth, almost rivaling that of E Aunty herself. 

“I am inspiration. Imagination. Art. Beauty. I am that which artists and painters have..”

“Oye hello, short mein batao”, growls E Aunty, who is now starting to get a headache. 

He looks sullen but complies. “Okay, in short, we must start writing again.”

E Aunty considers this. “Hmm, and what do you think we are doing right now?”.

A passing away

why does a stranger's passing away

affect me so

I do not know

that he did it to himself?

  i imagine the despair

  as if I was there

  but i wasn’t, no one was

  left to his own

  this man that once shone

  his life in the public was inspiring

  prolific, kind, a star

  but he was at war

that we do not know?

anyone’s reality

their complications, their fragility

we still sit as jury

  we speak lightly and loud

  until there is a shroud

  then we speak in poems and eulogies

  we praise the one gone

  we introspect and we mourn 

then go on as usual and be unkind 

to the next person we see.

And that’s the real tragedy. 

Humanity the great misnomer

my spirit looks like my poems
broken, unfinished
should i really be speaking
when i feel so diminished

the world outside is ablaze
my own steeped in a strange mix
of ennui and fatigue
my own shall pass, does the first have a fix?

is it okay to say
that humans are the worst
no spirit no redemption
we ruined all with our thirst

is it okay to say
that humanity is overrated
it is actually a misnomer
if you see the way we have treated

almost everything good
and i no better, am I?
caught in my own petty struggles
i don't even try

selfish and self-centred
it'd be good if we got wiped out
unless we miraculously collaborate
but that's not what humanity is about

Chasing laughter

laughter has ebbed away
one guffaw, giggle, gurgle at a time
I am left today with anaemic smiles
and a chuckle here and there

No no it's not the lockdown
but a general tightening of sorts
of time, of patience
of meeting topics unexpected

an intellectualisation
a brainification
a dialectic approach overall
I realise, like this very attempt

where are you, oh silliness
non-reason return to your throne
i promise won't look down at you
i know now what you bring

Brain in a jar

i want to exist

as a brain in a jar
no corporeal jhamelas
easier by far

maybe powered to a robot
during day time
so i can go places
on legs that are mine
(or kind of mine)

but when the mood strikes
i can just lay on a table
reading or dreaming
in all important ways, able

no need to bathe
or clean the house
do laundry
so where is the grouse

who's fat who's thin
who cares anymore
the beauty industry
will be pissed off for sure

no racism no sexism
brains can't be black or white
brains don't need land
no borders no fight?

just luxuriate all day
netflix and chill
how "chill" you say
well there's sure to be a pill

although come to think
things could go wrong
a discrimination may evolve
between brains weak and strong

knowing us humans
that's probably certain
so let end this mad scheme
let's draw the curtain

we are doomed
to a life full of troubles
let's protect our small joys
our own tiny bubbles