The Nothingness of Watching Raindrops

 Standing at the rusted window; observing a layer of grime citied within its horizontally depressed spaces not allowing the window to slide freely; simultaneously watching wind-blown drizzle softly settle over the window pane – in the foreground the kettle lets out a flurry of vapour. Vapour and rain, what a combination. Vapour and tea, what…

Virtual Reality as a Growing Avenue for Cinematic Progress

ABSTRACT Mankind has always been fascinated by the image – the image of the seen and unseen. From portraying a scene through a cave painting to painting realistic/abstract images and subsequently taking photographs to eventually making films, man has persevered to create an image of the experience he wants to witness and come close to,…

Poetry Is Important

VII-IV-2016 Poetry is important But some who write seem to forget Poetry is not in the form The form is only a vessel Poetry is not In the quotes your keep sharing Written by poets you can never be Poetry is not in your bookshelf It is neither a privilege nor an achievement Those who…

Small Irani Cafe Tucked Away in a Pune Suburb

Cafe India, NIBM Road, Pune.  Absolutely amazing small-scale Irani restaurant  Do not miss – Mushroom Cheese Omelette, Chicken Cheese Omelette. Doing away with the old chairs and furniture, Cafe India is more modernised, small Irani cafe with benches and tables. Although there is a warning, it doesn’t attract the best crowd, so you might be…

Chinar Tree in the Forest Besides the Lake

Amidst fallen apples, smell of dried saffron, mild wood fire smoke, the fragrance of algae from the lake and a mixture of tobacco and mist One can smell the foliage Of fallen leaves carpeting autumn They seem to be from this chinar They spiral down in a slow amber rain Calmly descending on scalps of…

Window Pane, Circa 2011

7 July 2011 at 02:21 a series from the collection “Poetry sans the Mind”   1. I rest my elbows over the brim Shadows scatter effortlessly Over vacant footpaths and the sky is dim Crows crackle, Leaves tackle the breeze in sways, a riffraff of foliage urges it’s way into an empty lane A pedestrian…

Sitting In a Rickshaw With a Nice Girl Who is Also a Good Friend

That’s a rarity. Make the most if it. Tell her she’s beautiful, only if it’s the truth. Tell her she’s fucked up, only if it’s the truth. Listen more than you speak. You might learn something new about yourself. Keep your eyes where they should be. Go Dutch on everything. Don’t be afraid of being…

Post-Rain, October the Twentieth

I write a few poems every October. This is from the 2012 October Series. __________________________________________ The present fills your eyes in blurs. As your mind migrates between tenses you become alone without a premise. In the backdrop sparse murmurs of falling raindrops fill the ambience without your permission. Never mind the reflections. They seem to…

At Times

At times you want so much but there is such little time to think through what you really want from all those wants. At times you just want to have a pseudo intellectual conversation with someone to feel normal and comfortably insecure. You want a cigarette dangling in your fingers while your hand sways in…

Unlikely Discovery: Tibetan Food in Ahmedabad

My friends at National Institute of Design have done me great favours, one of them being introducing me to rare and hidden places around Ahmedabad where one can find the choicest and most exclusive food. Food which one wouldn’t usually associate with Ahmedabad. A few days ago I was alone in Ahmedabad for a day,…

I Wonder : An Ode to Sixto Rodriguez

Warning : Film spoilers ahead All images in used in this article have been extracted from the documentary. I spent three and a half years smoking and writing bad poetry in a design school, where I learned close to nothing about designing. But in this small span of time, my friends and I managed to…

Touch

I’m in the mood to post some old poems in the coming days. Here’s one I wrote in 2011. Written on IV-VII-2011 Illusions crowd my eyes in unforgiving numbers. Crows spot the greyness of the sky with black movements. The wind is music for the season. I’m its only available audience. You slept with me in summer….