I don’t love you

If you think love is
trying to change you
then dear, I don’t love you.

Love is allowing you be.

If you think love is
calming your anger
then baby, I don’t love you.

Love is accepting your anger.

If you think love is
getting jealous when you’re with another girl
then darling, I don’t love you.

Love is trusting you.

If you think love is
spending every second of every day, together
then sweetheart, I don’t love you.

Love is giving each other that private space.

If you think love is
rushing to solve your every problem
then honey, I don’t love you.

Love is supporting your ability.

If you think love is
reading your mind
then puppy, I don’t love you.

Love is expressing your thoughts.

If you think love is
knowing every tiny detail about you
then buttercup, I don’t love you.

Love is in the mystery.

If you think love is
total dependence on one another
then sugar, I don’t love you.

Love is independence.

I love you
baby, sugar cake,
honey boo, puppy.

I love your anger
And I love our independence.

I love our ebb
And I love our flow
I love our highs
And I love our lows

I love our secrets
and I love your dreams

I can only love you like me.
I can only love you as me.

Pizza for a place in the heart

I sat there in the traffic watching the red numbers on the traffic lights count down.


The latest song hummed in a slow buzz, while I drummed my fingers lazily on the steering wheel. And bored as I was, I checked my phone:

A: wru?

B: On the way. will reach dominos in 10 mins.

C: Me too!

Me: stuck in traffic… 😦 will be late guys

After sending that text, I casually flung my phone on the passenger’s seat and glanced up.

A man came up to my car. A beggar. Around 60 years old.

His black and (mostly) white hair was in clumps. It was clear he hadn’t washed it in days. He had stubbly beard that had grown out. His last shave must have been three or four days ago. His frame was not-too-haggard; it seemed like he was in good health, but right now he was ravenous. That much was apparent.

The checked shirt and the lungi he wore fit him perfectly. I could see that they weren’t hand-me-downs. So, this man was wearing clothes he owned, was healthy in general, but somehow, right now he couldn’t afford a meal.

I wondered what poor fate had befallen him.

Surely, he can’t have been in this dilapidated state for long.

I got the strong feeling of a middle-class businessman who had a family back home. A family he could no longer go back to, because he wasn’t welcome.

My guts told me that this was a man who had been shunned from his own house.

He reminded me of my dad. My late dad.

Of course, all this was in my head. MY JUDGMENTS.

I opened my window slightly, and looked at him closely. His eyes — oh god the eyes — were shouting out for help.

I asked him, “Are you hungry?”

He nodded.

“Do you want to have pizza?”

He nodded hopefully.

I once again picked up my phone to send one instant message:

Me: U guys carry on. Can’t make it today.

It wasn’t too late to change things between me and my dad.

The ending is open to interpretation. Maybe the driver connected with the beggar and found a father figure in him. Or maybe she sought redemption for doing all the mean things she did to her own father. Or simply, an act of kindness.

This piece is a work of fiction based off my daily experience. I never talk to people on the streets. I admit, I’m scared. I’m terrified of the creeps who come in all shapes and sizes.

But that never stopped me from wondering what would happen if I decided to take them out to eat and had a heart-to-heart conversation with them.


lungi — a one-piece loose garment, tied around a man’s waist.

A girl from a small town

What does a girl from a small town know?

Lotsa things. You’d be surprised.

Let’s get the obvious ones out first …

She can cook like a recipe book that came alive – picture perfect, lip-smacking cuisines.
She can draw, or doodle, masterpieces with an ordinary ball pen
She can stitch those gaping holes in your pants’ crotch
And if you had your heart broken, she can stitch that too.
She can wake up at 6 am every damn morning
She can find the best store to buy the groceries that a cheapstake like you can never afford
She can manage a household for less than $15/month

And now for the hatke ones…

She holds a penchant for the arts
Yes, her ‘small town’ never had any popular celebrities.
But she was familiar with
World-class music and international dance styles,

She knows all the renowned painters,
artists, writers, directors,
storytellers, variety performers…

Some of them are her role models.
Some, her inspirations
Some, are rivals.

She has a deep set desire to travel the world

Go on adventures to exotic places
Will herself to stand at Niagara’s edge,
Walk through the temples at Angkor Wat
Marvel at the world’s greatest natural beauties
Like the aurelius borealis
and the Great Reef

She covets cross cultural experiences
To watch the rich colors on the Chinese Dragon
To tour Europe
To vacation at a beach and read her favourite book

She wants to meet new people
She can easily be friends with anybody
Young or Old

And she can handle people like a B-O-S-S

She has a strong opinion
And she can speak her mind,
unlike your feeble voice,
hers is much, much more intelligent and driven

She has a life goal
She has a life purpose
She has a life awe
She has a life.

I almost forgot,
She even wants to be a Don,
a good kind of Don, like Basha.
No kidding.

So yeah, a small-town girl has everything in the world
but your ludicrous conceit.

Dedicated to my mother.

She is an amazing lady from Coimbatore. About 25 years ago, Coimbatore was largely considered a “small town” compared to Madras. In some ways, it still is only a quasi-metro.

My mother was completely misunderstood by her in-laws. According to them, she was only a ‘small-town’ girl and wasn’t deserving of my dad. The truth is, they were a bunch of conceited egoists who weren’t half the woman she was. 

Today, as the administrative officer of an esteemed Trust’s hospital she has journeyed through many roles including a businesswoman, an IT professional, a BPO head and a homemaker.


If she could speak…

I miss you, Amma.
I miss you everyday.

Why did you leave me here and go away?

Was I not what you had expected?
Did you not like me when I was born?
Or did you see some defect in me?

Did my biological father want to give me away?
Or maybe put an end to my life, because I was a girl?

You put me away for adoption the day I was born – I forgive you.
I know you have your reasons.
And I’m sure you loved me.
I know you must.

Because I love you – albeit not knowing you,
I love you, Amma.

But I’m angry that you haven’t tried to contact me yet.

I’m so angry that I start crying.
Other times,
I simply lie awake – crying and unable to stop.
It’s just beyond me, this torrent of tears.

I don’t belong here, Amma.
It’s all so strange.

These people have so many criteria for love!

Whoever needs criteria to love?
You just love. That’s all.

They are oddballs, these folks.

Why did you leave me with these strangers, Amma?
They are calling themselves my ‘parents’ now.

They aren’t really people, Amma.
One of them is a monster and the other is a ghost.

The monster scares me, Amma.
She growls at me;
She hits me;
She spites me;

The ghost is her partner.
He doesn’t do anything much
Most of the times he just stares as the monster tortures me.
But on rare occasions,
he spits out ugly & disgusting stuff.

And because they are not people,
they are not capable of listening and talking
and sharing like normal humans.

They know only the supernatural law of communication.
‘Kill it before it kills you.’

Oh, and she loves to threaten me with this game of lives, Amma.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wondered –
“Should I kill it before it kills me?”

What do you think, Amma? Should I kill it?
How can I commit such a heinous crime?
How can I not, knowing that if I don’t, it will kill me first?

I don’t like living among such monsters and ghosts, Amma.

The monster and the ghost are a match made in Hell.
Because they deserve each other.

But what did I do to deserve them?
Why did you choose to punish me like this, Amma?

I’ve grown up now,
After asking too many ‘wrong’ questions
I have learnt to finally shut my mouth.

So I won’t ask you anymore of those Why questions.

But I beg of you,
Please take me away.
Please take me away to anywhere that’s normal.
Please take me away to where you are.

I promise I’ll kick the bucket hard this time.

-Awaiting your reply,
Your abandoned orphan.


Notes by Author: 

Amma – means ‘mom’ in a lot of different languages, specially from the South Indian region.

What I have attempted to show in this poem is the yearning of a child who doesn’t have a voice, in the figurative sense. She is a grown up woman but her inner child yearns for the motherly love that she hasn’t received at her adopted parents’ place.  

Careful is just another word for love

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Careful.”

When I stumbled for my first steps,
When I felt unsure on my first bike,
When I almost cried on the day of my exam,
When I had butterflies in my stomach, while talking to my first crush,
When I got my own bedroom, and was snuggling in for the first night,
When I go to the movies with my buddies,
When I drove to college on my own,
When I left home for a few months,
When I got my nose pierced,
Even when I get a bad haircut,
“Careful!!”, cried Mom.
Careful is just another word for love

No greater Love in this Universe!

A nonsense story is one that is built from random words. The ones I took were from my colleagues at work today. This is what unfurled.
love friends frustration tree river twilight hallucination meadow toothache food shoes taste like battery wallet tag pillar bike glass wheels strings compassion knowledge strength envy monsters altitude handcuffs mojitos orange tunnel ring color key icecream refugee alien seashore

Love is a strange word. To him it was only a tag for the state of hallucination that friends often found themselves to be in. Love was something he couldn’t understand. The frustration, the envy and hurt that ensued, were all too much for him. After all he was only an alien.

He had landed on the seashore of the Mediterranean with 243 other refugees from Pilla. They were running from the cruel His Dictatorship Battery. Battery had overthrown Commander Lithium in the Battle for Time and given himself the title ‘His Dictatorship’. Subsequently, His Dictatorship Battery ordered the hunt for all supporters of Lithium. He sent the Killer tanks of Pilla, the Wheels, to hunt down all Lithium followers.The planet of Pilla was under his rule now.  He was unstoppable.

Continue reading

This Golden Energy!

Enough of this wretched life…
I was blinded by them,
Handicapped by them,
Stripped of my life,
My smile,
My energy!
Orphaned by them.

Why am I
In a place that calls me a Cancer,
And not where I am a Gift?
Why am I
In a place that treats me like a Disease
And not where I am treated like a Queen?

Nine months of unrest later,
I stepped into the world with spite.
Broken in the mould,
How can I reshape to anything else?

Keep looking at the sunshine and you won’t see the shadow,

Trying to heal my previous wounds,
One, two…fifty…seventy eight…
Innumerable wounds!
I don’t want no more wounds; no new wounds.
I only want to heal and be whole.

Had my bones broken by them,
Made to believe I needed support for my back.
Took me a while,
But I realized I have a spine.
And I am my own support.

Thank you!
For without the wounds,
I couldn’t have known the medicine inside me.
All along,
Within layers of flesh, blood and mind
Deep down, a lost treasure of self-belief.

This Brilliant GOLDEN energy!
This abundant energy!
That tells me the Universe is my backbone.
The Universe supports me.

(I wrote this poem one late night when I felt the overwhelming need to do something about the hurt, betrayal and incarcerated feelings. While taking therapy has helped me slowly move away from the negativity in my life, it poses a constant threat even now. I am still looking for a permanent solution….that means there are more poems to come, so yeah! )

The Hellish Hound

It was 3 am. I woke up to the sounds of a lone dog howling – Aaoooo, aaooooo, aaoooo.

It wasn’t any normal howling. It was the kind that felt like a sharp saw was grinding inside your ears. It started out as a sharp-throated sound, that became a god-awful howl.Sorta as though the dog had hiccups, and decided to howl anyway. Hic-aoooo, hic-aoooo. I really can’t describe it properly. It was hellish. It was brutal.

Got me thinking, was it hurt? Did it lose a puppy? Was it simply bored?

Hick-awooo, Hick-awooo, hick-awooo.

I tossed and I turned. I couldn’t get rid of that hic-awoooo, hick-awooo from my head. I peeked out from the corners of my bedroom window. I didn’t catch the dog.No sight of him at all. But his howls came from somewhere just around the corner.

As a last resort, Dad and I went to the front gates and looked. There he came trotting down the street with intelligent eyes. He scanned us up and down and barked a few times. He realized we weren’t what he was looking for; maybe in our disheveled clothes and with our 3am drowsy eyes we just weren’t good enough company for him. Anyway he dismissed us, and continued on his search for his buddies or whatever.

Dead silence.

For a few minutes, I didn’t get used to the silence. Heavenly silence.

Oh shit, another growling…..oh wait.That’s just my stomach – gotta grab my post-midnight snack 😉

The Orphan

She knew well before her formative years

What the future held for her

“She has a beautiful family”

said Society

But her soul knew it was but a mirage


She watched growing up

The rest of the children being loved

Could the stork that brought her be mistaken ?

‘Cause there didn’t go a single day

She felt like a part


Dollars and Rupees and Pounds

Drove her insane

For she found no solace

in her Dad’s grace

She waited in vain

For the mother’s embrace


At the twilight

Darkness of hate begins to rise

Silently consuming her vice

Until one day

Her worst fears came true

And She felt orphaned


But there came a day she felt

The earth stand still for her

She didn’t know then

One’s heart can indeed overflow

In him she found Love

worth it all.


Here’s another one of my dark poems…


Caught up in a whirl of disoriented thoughts
This convoluted Mind
Like a hundred different shots
People that hurt from behind

I fear to shed a single tear
Whence lonely
It is only I who knows dear
That I live a life of phoney

Why did I murder myself ?
That I do a favor for others…
It is a dead heart I carry
And a mind that’s constantly angry

I am lost in the cacophonic psyche
Mind over heart and mind over physique
Where is the passion in life?
Where is the Life in life?