My box of charcoal and colour pencils

Gossamer

MOJO
The politics woman

The girl from next door

Krishna's Birthday (Krishna Janmashtami, 14th Aug.)

Preparations for the Puja( the ritualistic worshiping).

Thali (plate) of Gulab Jamuns (the brown yum yum balls, my favourite), the Swastika, Marigolds, Sweet Lime and Custard apples(the weird looking fruit), Akshat(rice), Roli(the red powder beside the akshat)



the stringed flowers




my swing for Baby Krishna

Paraphernalia

getting ready to give the baby his first bath



with water, milk and honey

bathed and dried

and we now let him be, resting, swinging.

Fogged

Weekend Camera

Home, lost and found

The earnest Kootchie Koo feelings and Gifts

I shall not buy you a teddy bear
Or get you a bunch of dried flowers from the old lady
A hieroglyphic pebble from London isn’t my wish
I wouldn’t pick curious stones for a pendant
Pink would certainly never remind me of you
For the personalized blue and white text-ed tee
I am not going all the way to the city
I will have to be entirely loony
To marker a palm with your name
Or to leaf your trace on the grass
When I don’t even miss you on my forearm
Forever and One isn’t my song
As aren’t the poems, all in all 97 so far
The long haired violinist
Had seen the last of her
Sitting on the tin of your cup and saucer
If at all you want a ring, apart the one for keys
Then a band would be my last idea
Happening only just by chance.

Connecticut

We had clams in butter- garlic and chicken-wings. He asked if I would have some whiskey and I told him that I was still breast feeding. Later he offered me his bed since it was very late and I didn’t know the place around much so without any reluctance or reserve I decided to stay over. The floor was bare and icy. He said he didn’t like to cover it with rugs or carpets. He set an alarm for 8 am which I didn’t really need. I did not want to ask him where he would sleep. It was a very cold winter that year, especially that night but he insisted I kept my window a little ajar to let out the smoke from the incense sticks which I put out later and even shut the window.

He had already left when I woke up the following morning. There was a white post-it on the mirror, ``Hope you slept fine, avoid the fuss and get some grub outside, the fridge is near empty anyways,’’ and a shopping bag hanging from the door knob. A toothbrush, a black 501, this I had asked for and an ` A line’ dress, very oriental looking which I doubted I would ever wear.

Around mid-October last year, sometime very late in the night I woke up to the smell of fried eggs, not just that, there was something else, something very familiar and frequent, the sounds, more of a feeling I was afraid to have recognized. Halfway down, I went back and slept.