Category Archives: Idle Thoughts
I stare at waves receding And know they are my words Going away from me, and the world, Going away to a place Where they will die A quiet, dignified death. I am less than a forgotten memory. I make … Continue reading
Your love is a drop of water It lightens to air, floats, Condenses, and rains. The grass shoots. Leaves dance green. A new life is born. But in drought, krishna There’s no drop to be had During endless summer months. … Continue reading
Thick grey clouds Swirl in the wind Thunder over houses And disappear Without a trace With empty promises And no rain. This krishna of mine Also promises me peace Shows me his soul Coaxes my laughter Makes me believe Then … Continue reading
Ajji was born in 1929 and so she doesn’t care that she was born on International Women’s Day. She begins her day with strong filter coffee brewed almost black with just a hint of milk. She no longer prays at the … Continue reading
This year, the fish washed ashore on International Women’s Day. Dead, inedible, and entirely an eyesore. Naturally, we blamed the fish. We realised that it was asking for it. The reports confirmed it. The fish wanted oxygen. Imagine that kind … Continue reading
The year has taught you reticence and fear. You fear revealing too much of yourself. You know judgments don’t matter to you, but they matter somewhere, elsewhere, and this year you have seen what it means when the otherwheres collide … Continue reading
“But how many lovers has this poet had?” he says.
And I sit up straighter in the chair.
The ‘he’ is the intellectual, spiritual snob in my class who likes to quote Kierkegaard. The baser instincts of lust and love are completely bourgeois, Madhav Rao likes to say.
“Kierkegaard says that we must always strive for the improvement of our soul. The positives in this poem that I see, therefore, are that I am being exposed to sexual writing. But I am a logical person. What is worse is that I am spiritual. So I really want to know. How many lovers has this–-can I say poet–-had?”
It is no surprise to me that he doesn’t get the idea of the poem, which is not about the number. Continue reading