Monday, February 13, 2012



Your words dance across the pages,
They swirl and twirl and laugh.
Mine are like bits of coal before them,
I hide them away in embarrasment.

When I miss you, I seek their laughter,
Your lightness and your fooling around.
Then I remember that though like coal,
You hold them close to your face.

How else can I put a finger on my joy,
That comes to me during saddest hours.
How else can give a reason for your face,
Dark and long for so many dreadful days,

The dark shadows are still on your face,
Though it's been a long long long time.

Thursday, February 02, 2012

One last word

In the bright season of May
years ago our paths diverged;
not that I didn't love you,
yes, I did but there wasn't time.

Time, for us to start afresh
with stubbles of old loves,
for you, with your silences
and me with my clowning...

after the tears wore away
and my heart forgot its pain,
nothing remains of the old,
except a few flashes in words.

But now the world forgets not,
even after years of tears
it brings your name to me
in whispers and laughter.

True love it may have been
No longer live but in words.

Wednesday, February 01, 2012



In the first three months of marriage, there was no reason for disharmony. Theirs was a marriage that was the fruition of five years of love that began somewhere at college.

Yes, they had kissed under the stairs at college and they had fun at times. But they had troubles that began when their names and their religions clashed against each other.

Akash Nair and Meera George were not meant to be together, so said her parents. When Meera ran away one morning it was not at all surprising to her parents.

It was an ordinary day like all the other days. It was Akash and Meera who made it special by getting married in an empty church. He loved making her happy.

The church was open and they said the prayers, Meera reciting them from memory. Afterwards, they went to see Akash's parents who received them with love.

The days of love were lovely and beyond words. But when she started retching, she felt sad. May be it's the food, it might not be suiting me, she thought.

Then the days began on thinking of her mother getting up in the morning and running to work while managing to survive with her sloppy cooking.

What do you want? Akash asked her. In her mind, she said, I want my mother's sloppiest cooked pickles, the better ladies finger fries and the best potato fries.

Nothing, she replied and went on sulking. Was there any way in which her cravings could be answered? With the newly understood feeling of carrying a baby inside, she thought.

She hated the smell of Akash's sweat and even his shirts could make her puke. He walked out angrily on seeing her puke and slept anywhere but near her.

Tears began and so did sleeplessness. Then one day, she bought some raw mangoes and tried to pickle it in the sloppiest way possible.

The aroma was unmistakable, the same sloppy smell of home. She ate them hungrily and hastily. As she found herself happy again, she felt a nauseating feeling and she puked.

She puked in the kitchen and ran to the bathroom, where she puked again and again. When Akash turned up, he was horrified at the sea of vomit around her.

Mango pickle, she said and as he swept and washed the floor, he swore and swore at the stink. She felt a movement in her belly and she felt the baby kick.

Look at this, Akash, baby is kicking. Though there was danger written on his face till a while ago, he came near her and said, “It's my boy learning how to head”.

No way my dear, it's going to be a woman, may be she will join police, Meera said. She thought harmony was restored at least for some time.

Pensiamento Fantastico: The Kitchen God’s Wife

Amy Tan’s novels serve as cultural documents that describe the immigrant experience in terms of communality and identity. They con...