I swallowed her and now
She lives inside me or I live
Through her, we are alive.
I’m her friend, her teenage
And fantasies, a sixty year old-
Hair and books she ever read
Long distance phone calls
And delight matched our
Love for Sujata, Mr And Mrs Iyer
And I sat on her couch on my
Despised vacations sketching
Letters to Milena, Quabbani
And we spoke of her brothers,
Generations and cafes I went.
I’m Delhi, Bangalore and
Endless conversations-
She never met and she’s my
Lost Malayalam, postcards and
A world so familiar, a childhood.

Hold your breath and relax
I’m going to stay and listen
Till you are out of stories and
I repeat, remind and you smile.
I’ll get you melodies and 60s
Harold Robbins and Nutan,
Your weirdness and aloofness.
You don’t grow old with me
I’ll live, I promise as your fonts
Visit places you walked and
Write to you all, deep- blue
Letters, deep- blue-letters.
You are my first high-heels
Strawberry fields and music system
I’ll recite you a love story
Picture him as our classic heroes
And giggle as girls sixteen and
Seventeen. You swallowed me
And I live through you, we’re alive.

Grandma, sing a lullaby
The fine tune you made for me

I want all the fireflies, the
Glass bottle and light an entire night

Where are my milkweeds
Aeroplanes, milk and honey?

I stood with my umbrella
And the wind took it with her

For the tempest outside my land
And no news returned

There’s my Grandma, her voice
That ooze out of my walls

You’re the bride, the picture
The house and a forgotten lullaby

Grandma, sing a lullaby
The fine tune you made for me

There was a world, a world
Where there were trees, birds
Happy homes and rivers
There was a world, a world
For man, animals and little
Hopes smiling over hills
There was a world, a world
So real like the ones on your
Tablet screens and T-shirts
There was a world, a world
Where there were no masks
No protective coats and wars
There was a world, a world
Where children played with
Water, tree tops and berries
There was a world, a world
Without guns, atomic bombs
Volcanic eruptions and storms
There was a world, a world
Full of oxygen, live music
And men dancing on streets
There was a world, a world
That made little sense over
Colour, money and language
There was a world, a world
Where man fed each other
And slept under a safe roof
There was a world, a world
Humans needed love, hope
And shoulders to cry on
There was a world, a world
Where man loved each other
And  nature, his mother.

I went there again today,
The plants I taught my-
Third standard lessons,
Tiny rooms with choir mats
And a long verandah that looked
Almost like a dream
My mother wove,
They've all remained the same,
Without alterations.
I walked the backyard with my aunt,
The new lotus pond and
Her kitchen garden
The temple that overlooked
The huge mango tree
Has become affectionate remains
Of an off-track history.
Bartered land and
English medicines,
A new plastic tap,
A European closet
And few glass plates their-
Souvenirs.
I remember the days,
The sleepless summers
They collected mangoes under
Persian torch lights,
The occasional scooters
And auto-rickshaws
That scated the narrow orange road
And the bubbles I made
With kids next door
From gums of little plants.
I have outgrown those images
But nostalgia is a nice feeling.

I stole the relic they did not sell and
Invented a future for them to pretend,
Their decorated intelligence perhaps
Made a habit of wandering with the-
Stories I created, I travelled with them.
I lived in stories, with the characters,
Their adolescence & lovers and their
Whimsical tales drowned my nerves,
I don’t know how pitiful it is to live
With lifeless fonts and their charisma
I did not click pictures of their realism,
I wanted them in all ages with more
Stories, imperfections & inadequacies,
They’ll all disappear or die someday
And I guess life wouldn’t be like stories.

I never met the Mediterranean neither
His bride’s land nor their aquiline nose
I saw them as shifting images
Like a pair of oily eels.

They came with the waves tumbling-
Forward from few days journey
There was no wave of anger, only an
Insecure spring of a shell-less snail.

I cannot disremember the salinity,
The stretched little boy on its shores,
Floating pieces of lost hope
And the airless nights that followed.

Dear Mediterranean, there are
Millions out there, distant kin
I don’t want those dead on rectangular-
Cement slabs, bring them alive!

In the space sliding of a nameless burn
My degraded past and revolting chattels sob
Sketching reality into lasting trace
For my spirit to sink in this bitter survival.
Can you recall the regal cloud of my smile?
The mistake made by your dense remains
To banish me from my bare actuality,
The agony to escape and hide in mystery.
I wish I could tell you the story left behind
The roots of my prevailing sustenance
But there is nothing you could do
For this stubborn old wood!