Wednesday, 25 December 2013

Baking : the sheer joys of batter licking.

  Let's be honest, most of us, all of us, live to eat. Even my most determined girlfriends, swearing on a papayas-only diet, you take a look at that fluffy,gorgeous brownie, that silky fondant adorning it, and you have to have it. BROWNIE COME BACK HERE. There. I think I've made my point. Cake spreads the lurrve like nothing else. Stick around pi-r-cube during lunch and you'll see half a dozen groups of big and small people, screaming orgasmically and throwing cake onto each others faces, hair, nostrils, you get the picture.( I am strongly against this. Happy Birthday to you. Got any cake left? Some of us like to eat it too).
So why wait for birthdays for a bite of paradise? Here I give you fun new hobby : Baking.
You will need : An oven. Or your neighbor's oven. No can do without that. Sorry.
                       A couple of hours(for most recipes). C'mon, you're not tha-at busy.
                       The will to get off your butt and move around.
Once you've got that oven, you need a recipe. If you're holding that stirrer for the first time, I strongly recommend you don't attempt the 8 layered upside down cake you watched on Masterchef. A simple sponge-cake tastes great too.Call up that aunt you've always avoided, for her recipe. Or maybe just Google.
Once you've picked something mouthwatering enough (and doable) walk to supermarket (Yes, walk. You're going to be stuffing that cake down your throat in a few hours). Gather your supplies, and its time to get your hands dirty.  Now I wont pretend to be a proficient baker here and give out sophisticated advice, but stir, stir and stir. No lumps. That's the secret to a good cake. As simple as that. Pre-heat your oven and get your cake in. And the best past, the remains of the batter on your mixing bowl, go ahead, taste it. You made that. Tastes even better now doesn't it? And your cake is baking away and that aroma is swimming around you and you're drowning, drowning in the glory of your produce. Sigh. Bliss. Warning : Take care not to burn the cake while you're in dreamland.
 So don't be lazy, don't wait for someone to come knocking at your door with a pretty basket of cupcakes (lovely as that would be, such things seldom happen). Lets see(and taste) some of your brownies, cookies, maybe cheesecakes too. Boys don't be shy, we all know you've got that baking talent too, and just so you know, the ladies love that *wink wink*.
 Here's to a Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year and to the start of something beautiful.
Eggless sponge cake by yours truly
Creation of my friend Nandini, she's almost professional

Wednesday, 18 December 2013

Real

Real

I know you aren't real
But I'll put on my new purple scarf
(I've told everyone its a gift from you)
And trail these large footprints
Still fresh on last night's snow

And I know this snow isn't real
(It doesn't snow in the tropics, does it?)
But I don't need to wear gloves to save 
My half-blue fingers because soon you'll
Hold my hands and we'll kiss

As the fireworks tumble across the horizon
(They aren't real, but you know that)
Like in all those movies we watched,
But didnt, and then criticized.
And your scent is teasing my hair like 
The prelude to an invisible snowstorm

And I know your scent isn't real
(Am I the predator darling, or are you?) 
Ha, you think I'm still oblivious.
This sheet of fog I'm running through,
Don't let it clear yet, let the cold shred me 
To smaller bits tonight, so i can diffuse into
This breathtaking lie
That is you.








Tuesday, 10 December 2013

Rapunzel

Rapunzel

Don't sit shuddering by that damp, wasted fireplace
Strike some stones together and burn your ache.

Don't take orders from that green nailed witch.
There is no glory to your bloody tears, punch her on the face.

The world is wider than the square picture on your wall.
You are stronger than your dainty fingers and silken hair.

Don't just spend your nights singing songs for the doe-eyed prince
He could take too long, or could turn out to be a blithering idiot.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair?
No.

Sunday, 10 November 2013

Drool

Drool.


Its only just past midnight,

I could seduce you now (of course I could)
I just cant decide how.

I'm hazy( even with my one track mind)
Everything
From the roots of my hair to my stiff toes,
Is stern but excitable
Like the edge of a raised whip.

I could be forward, cheeky,
Stride up to you like the secretary in glasses,
From those cheap erotic novellas, selling on footpaths;
And just eat out your face (There. Sigh).
Or do I have to measure out big words
And write you a fancy poem
To tell You what I need?

Or I could sit back, and play your
Innocent, aloof princess, tucking hair behind her ear,
Like in those Oh-so-phony music videos, that always make me 
Cringe and splutter and change the channel. 
And have you come to me, and eat out my face (sigh).
Or do I have to look up the big words I've learnt,
And write you a fancy poem
To tell You what I need?

These clumsy words, that drool down my tongue
These traces of kohl, dragged under my eyes
Are all I have, to tell You what I need.





Saturday, 9 November 2013

Burn

Burn

Everything I've known is burning.

My style,my work, my rhymes, years of practice.
The remains sit there sloppily, like those posers at rock concerts.
Like their pretentious t-shirts that I once coveted, all blah-blah.
Its burnt, all of it.
Yes? Yes, b'bye.
My tears burn before they fall to the ground.

This house I built for you, for us, with those wild violet flowers 
Growing into the window; We never did find out what they were called. 
The cold fire dances so fluidly, oh, I'm so hypnotized, I cannot cry,
I cannot think, I cannot love, I cannot hold you back.
Its burnt now, all of it.
No, please? Yes, b'bye.
The tears come too late, and burn before they touch the ground.

Then the fire swims to my feet and stops, waiting.
I jump in mechanically, headfirst, and don't feel a thing.

I'm all burnt, anyway.










 

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

If only we knew.

If Only We Knew

How loud is silence?
As loud as the thump of a plump toad
On the sickeningly moist forest floor.
As loud as the thunder in your eyes
Between kisses that we thirsted for before.

How bright is darkness?
As bright as the night of the crescent moon
Grinning vainly, against the indiscernible blue.
As bright as the sweet sweat glistening on your
Neck, smiling, as I turn around to face you.

How shallow is depth?
As shallow as this singed mountain lake, with
The embers of dead fish floating steadily to the shores.
As shallow as your words when we lay blissfully on
The covers, soaking in the laughter of yesterday's desires.




Monday, 14 October 2013

Nobody Home

Nobody Home


Friday night, smoky skies

Distant stars wane.
Cigarette butts strewn 
On the balcony floor send
Signals to them in vain.
Nobody, nobody home.

Saturday morning, cozy and bright.

The closet door falls ajar.
Unkempt dresses hang down
From scores of blue steel hangers
Which clink to say 'here we are'
But nobody, nobody home.

Monday afternoon, crackles of sun

The postman rings twice
To be sure. The electric blue
Bee, buzzes and withdraws. Strands of hair
Criss-cross with stands of sunlight
While the silken shroud billows...

..Under morbidly red rose petals, that she'd hoped would mourn.
Because the clouds were still white, and there was nobody, nobody home.








Friday, 11 October 2013

Narcissists 101

Narcissists 101

The tired camera snaps again, trying to grab that brittle smile.
One more, for luck.
Like this? Hands on the hips, or sparkly pouting lips?

No, I look fat in this one, and this just wont do. 
Maybe after a subtle(drastic) edit or two.
A side profile, holding that tequila on the rocks,
Throw that head back courting scandal, welcome the gawks. 

Mirror (mirroring me) ,on my wall.
Aw, do you know how perfectly your eyelashes curl?
Of course you do.
When you curve your lips to a Mona Lisa, that pricey outfit 
Clinging on, utterly painted, complete with ostentatious hairdo.

I'm only 'being myself'.
So you're saying you are free?
I don't care about the 'likes', i don't even check. 
Not once. Hmph.
Aren't they pulling the strings?
You're just jealous, woman.
Indeed, I am.
Minimalist and true.
Screw society.
Well, she does it always, why shouldn't I?
That smile I know is blistering with doubt and reproach.

Seriously love, don't you go judging me.
I know, I've seen you do it too.
Its only natural.
Awkward clorting.




And here's a picture of me being narcissistic.










Tuesday, 1 October 2013

Unfaithful

Unfaithful


You do, some nights, the way He did

Burn me, until my toes curl in delight
Titillate me, pinned against the wall
I laugh against your coarse, unyielding lips.

Then you say, dies, ernst, your eyebrows in untamed knots,
I wrote this, for you. Sie.
Lies.

Then we lift off, to the angriest, most mutilated piece of sky
I am reluctant, beseeching, finally powerless, against the giant whirlpool.

Then comes the climax, the layers of ecstasy
Fall against me, violently cascaded, like the
Leaves of adjacent trees who are secretly lovers.

When its over, you kiss my scarlet fingernails
Faintly satisfied, from hours of your frivolous, hedonistic patterns.

Notes, voluptuous notes.

Now I can walk away.

You may have made me dance and frozen me, darling.
But He took my hand and set me free.
















Saturday, 7 September 2013

Pen pals, smudged ink

Pen Pals, smudged ink.


After you leave, it pours all night, I cant sleep.
My roof gave in to the frantic knocks of thunder.
And all the sky does is weep.

I remember, that on my rickety table, lies that thick white envelope, faded to yellow, letters silently spilling from it.

A few hours earlier, i'd have waded through this rain 
Slapping my floor, ankle deep, icy cold. 
To save that memento of our solemn courtship.
Seas of words, each ending with 'Love, forever'.
Mine tiny and blue, yours black and bold.

Instead, i turn over and think
Of words that peak, on the night of the high tide,
and then fall sharply.
Frivolous.
Hurried.
Careless.
So forgettable.

In the morning I find, blue and black blotted to form
Meaningless, disfigured words.

Monday, 19 August 2013

Cliched Cliches

Cliched Cliches

Our eyes found each other's from across a
Smoke strewn road, and our lips curved into 
Dopey smiles that carried through the day.

Frenzied text messages
Dozen missed calls at
Two in the morning.

We fell in love and then in lust.
French kisses didn't last long enough
Stolen behind classrooms doors.

Umbrellas stay tucked away
Grey skies turn bountiful blue.
I sing as I paint my nails meticulously.

Open my favorite book, to stroke
Your name signed on the flyleaf
Right there, beside your love.

Now we have a song,we claim its 'ours'
Names doodled on notebook corners
Hearts included, can we get any more 'aww'?

Here I am, Writing these disheveled verses,
Wrapped up in your sticky chocolate arms.
Don't think them too grotesque or oh, too cheesy.
You cant deny, my darling, that as these cliches
Are ever so 
Honest.



















Wednesday, 14 August 2013

A moment of fury

A moment of fury

I am so angry, that the turbulence
Circling my head has progressed into ruthless waves.
It aches when they break the helpless shore 
into spineless caves.

Colors and crooked lines
float in righteous incongruity.
Dust trembles and settles in
rows, disorderly.
Those voices that volley back and forth
In ugly frequencies, 
Are they in my head?
Am I trapped in them?
Or are those two, the same?

Windows shatter, the ceiling cracks open
Trees drop dead in resigned unison.
I drive my knives into those who ought to atone.
The milliseconds drag into an overwhelming, fleeting moment.
Curtains unfurl and the yellow light floods the floor.
I'm covered in stabs, and the anger, its gone, gone.

Friday, 2 August 2013

Symphony 9

Symphony 9

(Said Ludwig Van Beethoven)
I could not hear, the applause
That resonated the Vienna Opera House,
Their tribute to my humble, silent symphony.

Sitting by my piano, I have to be content
With all that I Hear,
Here, in my head.

(Then to the sea of pianists and cellists )
Tune them well, my friend. 



Saturday, 27 July 2013

The Mirror

The Mirror

You come to me (said she), on your not-so-good days
Blotchy eyed and broken 
I try, to balm those bruises, to contain those tears, to
Talk you into brushing that mop of hair and taking
A shower.
But you despise every inch of me, don't you,
You petulant, stupid child? You raise your hand to push me
Away and I feel my heart shatter; the shards fold inwards,
dwindle away, seeping despair, you will have none of me.

On more rewarding days you stand, hands on your you hips;
Flash me one of your rare smiles. I have no memory of your
Brutality. You flaunt your new clothes and we giggle in unison.
You will never acknowledge that I am more than a mere echo.

Your secrets,safe, in my crystalline, faithful depths, lie buried
So deep, so transient that they are forgotten. Come by
Whenever you need me, you always have(here she paused).

I will show you what you want to see.

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

Unrequited and Grey.

Unrequited and Grey


I fell in love with a dark haired man,
His pale arms hung down like whipped cream,
Or so i thought; As i gazed, dopey-eyed,at his form
Silhouetted beside my window open, to shield
The dewdrops and butterflies, and seductive
Lonely spirits during
Their vast voyages, seeking redemption. Then I was paper white, 
It scared me when he stood there, serene and icy, never
Never,close enough. Then he smiled at me, melancholy
And on rainy nights i fed off his stories, about dark, faraway rivers
And playing soldier. Sometimes he sang to me,as I marveled at the 
Perfect almonds of his eyes,

We never held hands and he never bought me flowers.
We never made love on top of the sheets, nor did I cook him dinner.
My love notes were delivered too late, his never arrived.
He never said he loved me, I think he did, I never asked.

I fell in love with the ghost of a dark haired man;
And the world turned grey at the crack of dawn.

An unfinished painting hangs neglected on my easel;
A painting in two colors, Black and White.
Even when they met in the corners, there was grey,
There could only be grey.







 

Friday, 19 July 2013

2 AM

Long are the days when I walk thirsty
For miles and the sun laughs down at me.
The crooked staircase twists in mockery
And my clenched hands come empty.

But longer are these grey, haunted nights
When my weary eyelids are afraid to fall.
Shadows flit and dance vigorously in spite
Of myself as I wretchedly await your call.

**************


Tuesday, 16 July 2013

The convention of rationalist poets

The convention of rationalist poets.

They conferred and decided that the world no more needed

Feverish ballads about the slender Beauty with her
Ruby lips, shimmering patterns dripping off her ebony hair.

Woeful sonnets from spurned lovers, elucidating the sweaty pearls
Of misery and heartbreak, being turned away from her, sigh, Her.

Dreamy odes to the infinite oceans and the first snowflakes settled
On chapped leaves, those scented poems, recited by Firesides and kettles.

Passionate verses on tainted and denied flowers, on the marble Tombstones
Of war heroes, on naughty children flaunting their Taboo tattoos on the pavements.

Wicked satires on the Angels with their gilded wings, playing truant as
The world weeps, on the tyranny of the Usurper and his quiet menace

The clock stuck five, and the meeting adjourned,
The ignited match was dropped on a bundle of scribbled papers.
I can still see it, from far, far away.

It will be long before the fire goes out.

paper on fire and burn Stock Photo - 15810131




Wednesday, 10 July 2013

Shadows looming over puddles.

Shadows looming over puddles

When I was six, I was afraid that I'd be chastised by an annoyed
Mother on stepping home wearing my dirty
Frock dripping, courtesy the inviting puddles, warm,
Brown and for the lack of words, can I say 'splash-worthy'?

Now, under cloud scattered skies I wear a perpetual frown,
Swearing at the umbrella forgotten at home. Remnants of smiles that creep
from the nostalgia of the petrichor; they die almost instantly, as I'm vexed by the prospect
Of ruining my designer jeans in the puddles, swimming hideous and knee-deep.

When I was six I was afraid of  sleeping alone in a gloomy
Pitch black room. On nights that my mother tried to coax me
Into it, I'd slip out from between her arms and run to the full view of the
Grown-Ups. And bawl my lungs out till I got to chose where i'd sleep.

Now when I get home at night, I forget, sometimes even refuse
To turn the lights on. I stare at my ceiling, a topsy-turvy collage of dreams,
Some still wrapped and ribbon-ed, some worn-off and cast away.
Then I cry, quietly, uncertainly, into my arm, hoping no one hears my screams.

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

The 24th main shopping mall.

The 24th main shopping mall.

chaos breaks out in an orderly fashion
shooting anchors to grip the corners
of the spotless walls of the 24th main
shopping mall.
bewildered bejeweled hearts stroll leisurely
taking in the 'scenery' and scent of the posh
perfumes, and mannequins wearing their poker faces
lined up against the wall.

We waltz in through the polished double doors.
Famished and Lost
Bored and Loaded
Excited and Lonely
Broke and Love-struck
sunny saturday afternoon darkens through the
fancy french windows and the canned air
wafts out of steel slits while lifeless music
floats tentatively
fingers brush over rows of clothes while
they say 'haute conture', not knowing how to.
plastic smiles flock around in inelastic troupes,
almost vivaciously
we cast envious glances at one another,
imagining we would be happier with
manicured fingernails and six-inch stilettos. 

We come, we see, we covet.











Saturday, 29 June 2013

On days like this,

On days like this,

Why is it so difficult
To write a song
To build a time machine
To own up to mom
To studiously pore through wads of knowledge in front of me. 
To shut the window to the glee of young rain.
To refrain from resorting to cliches
To lawfully adhere to the signpost 'do not walk on the grass'
To breathe in the subtle magic of a painting glistening with colors.
To stop believing in ghosts and gods
To do more than just stand and watch
To break the ice, the purest, hardest ice.
To distrust you, even as I know you're lying to me.
To discern the right answer in the face of death
To cut out the jargon, and oh, the preaching.
To just shut up, and listen, listen.