The Boiling Pot

Who lit the fire?
Why does the water
Boil forever?

Bubbling, effervescent
Never pausing
Or quiet.

A drop falls in
And it too
Ends up dancing.

Merge, Emerge

It was a tsunami
the talk of the town
of the country
of the globe around!

The waves that rise
rose and rose
to fall and drag
all that that was close.

When I saw the sea
there was no trace
of the dreaded
destructive giant wave.

I soaked my feet
in the seawater
and looked at the particles
did they matter?

Some of these were 
part of that wave,
but back in the water,
they looked the same!

Having merged
they were indistinct.
Did they even exist?
It made me think.

Vapourised, condensed
where were they?
Would they arise
like a tsunami again?

Would we know
if they are the same?
Or will they be
new to the game?

We too rise and 

fall back in time.

Even Hitler is gone

without a sign.

Lost in a sea

leaving no trace

merging in a mass

emerging never again.

In this short time

that we are given

what should we live for?

is it name and fame?

A little of this

a little of that

but find in our lives

some dignity and grace.

Hampi - A Confluence of the Gross and the Subtle

It began like any other trip. "Should we go to place A or B?" My husband asked me and after weighing pros and cons, we decided it would be Hampi - never mind if it was A or B. As always, I packed the most essential - a book. Colleen Mccullough's 'Antony and Cleopatra' - a well-written, big fat book that I was half-way through already. And along with that came a bonus - 'Lectures on the Ramayana' by Sri VS Srinivasa Sastri. 

The Queen Bee and Other Limericks

There once was a lady

Who thought she was the Queen Bee

She gathered friends around her

Collecting their secrets like nectar

So that they surrendered to her will only

The Journey of the Bangle

It arrived just morning, after being moulded, the gems set and it burnished to be shiny and attractive.

It was a bracelet. Not precious. Just an ordinary 'junk jewellery', one among the millions that fill the shops and find their ways into homes, sometimes being cherished, sometimes forgotten. What would the fate of this one be? Did even its maker wonder? He just pocketed his wages and headed out to the nearby shop selling drinks.

The Way to the Stomach

Mishri placed all the dishes on the table and called her family to lunch. She went to her 80-year-old mother-in-law's Shantha's room and told her that lunch was served. Shantha was reclining, half asleep, listening to music. 

Since turning 80, Shantha's reflexes had slowed down but not her mind. She was still sharp and still made Mishri, who was herself on the verge of becoming a mother-in-law to a beautiful bride, nervous. Having lived in the village all her life, Shantha had only recently moved in with her son and the occasional anxiety of meeting her mother-in-law became a little more permanent now.

When a Thousand Words Say It Better

Mohita opened her balcony door and, as always, her eyes darted to the house across the lane. The curtains were drawn but Mohita could picturise the wall with the framed picture. 

She had just recently moved in from another locality. There, her house had overlooked the road, a boring, lethargic road with little traffic or view. She had loved this house because of its vibrant atmosphere. There were houses around and children played in the common areas. After a week of moving in, one evening she stood in the balcony looking down at the children when the light came on in the house across the narrow lane that separated them. A lady placed some bags on the sofa and sat down beside it, evidently tired.