Works of RK

I miss you, For infinity that lies in your eyes For the midnight that dwelves Between your manicured brows. For life and all its joys That you carry in your wake For happiness, and joy And chuckle and the silly fights For longing, and pain that is to come I miss you For the shades you lend to my shadows For being the reason for me to walk Into my otherwise empty tomorrow's. This little life And all that there is in there And not there.

It is not darkness But the absence of light Not pain But absence of pleasure. There are days that are dreary Days that are sad And I find myself looking up at the sky And begging for the Sun To just fucking shine. The heart that throbbed within me once Like cannon balls thudding around Now lies silent and forlorn, even, As a battle rages deep within. What the heart feels A poet can string to words Through slow mellow rhymes Silent in longing and love. But the Shakespearean silence of my soul I can never pen, Into words you will fully understand. There is no method my love, To my madness My madness is you. It is not darkness that surrounds me It’s the absence of your light, This life’s only true delight

Long train journeys make me sad. The gentle lyre that plays some sad Chinese melody in the background of our everyday lives, suddenly comes afore. The notes from their pathos drown me. As in a trance, I find myself staring at concrete sleepers and iron tracks, my eyes brimming with ancient tears. I have often wondered why this happens. Maybe because long train journeys remind me of my childhood. Reminds me of a life full of beautiful loving people. Some have traveled to the edges of these railroads and faded out of sight, some have merged with these tracks and what remains of them are the sounds from these clanging wheels of an ageing memory and iron dust. This rattling reminds me of a journey that all of us have to undertake. This long untiring unending relentless journey on iron wheels, hooting, halting, changing lanes, always running. I bid goodbyes to those who have arrived. As I hurtle towards my own destination, I take a quick look at those who i travel with. When my time comes, ...

I have felt your heart beat At my finger tips I have felt the heightened fluttering In your being From my being. I carry within me forever the warmth From that near embrace The moonlight that lends a sparkle To the glitter in your lashes Reminds me of that night When I first realized That the heart that beats near mine Is just as mine Only closer.

Before I knew you, I did not know myself. Before I knew you, I thought I knew myself. I did not know that a stray wind carrying in its fold a faint fragrance from yore, would make my heart miss a beat, stop time and freeze me in its eternal moment. I did not know that a laughter from a stranger would reverberate across an ocean of full of shackled memories, and huge tidal waves of your thoughts, could drown me into eternal grief . I did not know that I will catch myself so often, intensely staring at strangers in red, for red was your favourite colour. Before I knew you, I thought I had conquered love and were immune to it. Before I knew you, I was barely human.

My mamma speaks of the time when I was a four year old. One day, I jumped on one side of an empty refrigerator stand, and the other side came and hit me on my face. The stand was made of iron and I hurt my eyebrow bad. I went about playing until the blood started clouding my vision and staining the floor. It was then that my aunt looked out of the window and screamed out of fear and surprise. It was her scream that scared me. I started crying as well, rubbing all that blood from my slit eyebrows all over my face. It hurt bad. The doc gave me 6 stitches to get my brow back in shape. I still have them right there. After the stitches, mamma says that I would play around all day and occasionally weep with the pain from the stitches. I will sing, laugh, run and fight, and then cry some as well. It was funny, watching me hop around with a huge bandage on one eye, it was also heart rending for her. I was all of four years old when that happened. Mamma, nothing much has changed. The pain now, ...

TWO SHADES TOO BLUE I watch the empty window-side table closely. For this used to be your favourite place. Here you would sip your half cup tea And pout and look out of the window longingly. You will point to people going about their everyday lives,  and like a little princess, you will weave stories, and chuckle and laugh Your presence had a way of making my little house Feel full. It was as if you filled my walls with shades That made then come to life. As if suddenly, Being a dining table was an important achievement, And that wall hanging Would acquire a personality, and indulgently Glare at me; as if this were its house, not mine. I now look at the empty space besides my window. Baby , it was your favourite spot. And watching you My favourite moment. First published in Muse India, Jan-Feb 2017

That constant pulse of missing That heightened anticipation of a change That would never come. I miss you so much That I could not even write these lines Until now For the fear that these lines will fail to tell The sadness that surrounds my soul And the emptiness that walks with me Reminding me Of just how much you will forever Mean to me. This shell of my being Is a soulless godless place And without you the colors fade As if they just gave up their shades Now that you are not looking. Its not your fragrance that I miss Its not the exquisite beauty of your being No I do not miss you The way people miss people. Baby, I miss your love. I miss your look. I miss you missing me.

I no longer live in your secret places.  I am aware that relationships change, perspectives change and so do people with it. But the heart wants what it wants. I look into your eyes and I don't see myself there anymore. You look at me and I know that you are not looking at me anymore. But the heart wants what it wants.

As you ride along long winding lanes of your life, And as you take each blind turn And live out its destiny; Remember my friend I too would have passed that way One car distance away, Taking those very same turns with you Ahead of you, For you. And if you ever feel lonely in the ride The seat next to me is empty And I would love you by my side. ------------ Inspired by NFS-The Movie,

Every once in a long while, I fall silent in midst of a roaring relationship. I wait for the clutter of last night chatter to subside and the noise from everyday thoughts to settle down, and then I watch how my withdrawing affects the relationship. Most times, the silence stretches uneasily. It is as if somebody has paused a Schwarzenegger movie. It is as if an icicle forgot to drip, a snowflake landed on another and I were in a dream where the bogey man scared me to silence.

I have never seen an ocean. I don't know anyone who has seen one. Growing up by the Ganges, I was in awe with the angry river that overflowed every year. I looked at Baccha uncle's marooned steamer and imagined the ghosts that lived within its iron soul. When I first saw the sea, I also sensed the roundness of the horizon, the fullness of its brims and the infiniteness of the waves. If I were to sing on a dark silent night, l knew that my song would not reach the other shore. The sea dwarfed me into nothingness. It made me feel like a handful of water held up to the sun as an offering and then running down the fingers, back into the sea. Like an errant stream, I run a crazy winding course downhill. But my dear, I know that when I am done, I will meander my way back to you. I can feel my rush as I fall into you. I know what awaits me, as I dive deep into you. I too, fill you. I loose myself so that there can be you.

I see the vastness of these oceans and I look at my bare foot legs, wet with the oceans longing for me. Not that I waded into these waters deliberately, not that I heard it's call and responded as in a dream. These waters came searching for me. As the showers spray salt shatter break breach surf and roll, I feel like the sea, rushing to lose myself among the vastness that now surrounds me. It is time to lose a bit of me. It is time to change a bit of you. Of what use my dear are these two separate identities?

जो रिश्ता समंदर का पानी से लहरों का किनारों से है कुछ ऐसा ही रिश्ता मेरी हमनफ़ज़ आपके दिल का हमारे दिल से है। कभी इतनी पास की रूहानी हो जाये कभी दूर इतनी कि रूह तड़प सा जाये। कभी ...

धर्ति से ना पूछो कि है बारिश से ये कैसा प्रेम वक़्त से ना पूछो क्षण का प्रेम तुम इस कदर हो घुली मुझमें जैसे कि तुम वक़्त और में क्षण तुममे तुम भूमी में जल सा समाया तुममे तुम मंज़ि...

I have felt your heart fluttering as my fingers made weird random design on your palm. No, you don't have to tell me what I do to you. It's just a small bit of all that you do to me as well.

As you walk into this day, I want you to meet it all the way. I want you to make love to the sunshine I want you to dance in the rain. I want you to fight with the traffic cop And abuse the zombie on the other lane. Kill a boss or two Bring smile to a lonely hearts face. Drench yourself in Victoria's secrets Drape yourself in a lace As you walk out to meet life today I want you to face it with little grace.

एक दर्द ऐसा भी दे जाओ जो सिगरी कि तरह सुलगते रहे थीमि थीमि सिसकियों से रातों को जगाती रहे एक ऐसी सुबह दे जाओ जिसकी कोई रात ना हो और जो ख्वाइश अंधेरों कि हो तुम्हारे ज़ुल्फ़ों क...

मैं तुम्हारे किताब का वो पन्ना हूँ जो इस वजह से जुड़ गयी क्योंकि हर किताबं में कुछ पन्ने यूहीं शामिल कर दिये जातें हैं। कुछ लोग ऐसे पन्नों में अपने नाम लिख छोड़ देते हैं तो कु...

ये कैसा सन्नाटा है ज़िंदगी जो इस कदर बेबस करती है कि शाम ठले तो तुम्हारी यादें शोर-ग़ुल चैन तबाह कर देती है  इससे अच्छा तो यह होता कि कुछ दूर और हम साथ साथ चलते और यूँही किसी मोड़ पर पलक झपकते तुम कुछ ऐसा केह देती और मे कुछ वैसा सुन जाता कि राह चलते जो इक मोड़ अति तुम इक राह पकड़ती और दुसरे से हम निकल जाते। Audio Rendering

Photo Courstey जिन नज़रों से मै तुम्हें देखता हूँ, उन नज़रों कि कसम वो दुआएं जिनमे  तुम हर पल बस्ती हो उन सभी दुआओं की कसम जिन रातों की चांदनी तुमसे वाबस्ता है ऐसे हर रातों कि कसम जिस सुबह को तुम्हारी गुज़ारिश है उन सभी सुबहों कि कसम जिन घटाओं में शामिल तुम बे वक़्त बरसा करती हो उन सभी घटाओं कि कसम जिन खूबसूरत वादियों में हम तुम शाम ठले मिलते थे उन सभी हसीन वादियों की कसम जिन साँसों में तुम धड़कन बन कर बजती हो उन सभी साँसों कि कसम याद करना तो आया न मुझे पर अब जब भुलाना चाहुँ तो भूल भि न पाऊं रोना तो सीख लिया मैंने ज़िन्दगी  भुलाना तो तुमने सिखाया न मुझे.  You can listen to this poem HERE

I see those questions in your eyes And I see that my silences And where they come from Surprises you. I can feel you peeking hard Into closed alleyways and corridors Of my silent gentle life And I see you. It's my story And I hold it dear. It is full of longing Full of silent tears. It's not a story that I wish to share For it's my life, And as it unfolds One chapter at a time You will know of it If you are in there.

In that moment Between looking up And looking down Smiling And holding back that smile Touching And not letting the touch linger on Waiting And not making it look like waiting Is a story well begun .

I had this dream. I had this dream that I was floating on a cloud and you were with me. From the mist of wayward dreams, I could feel your fragrance engulfing me. Each time I was confused and frightened and lonely and sad, I could see you pouting at me. The sun was but a glimmer and the birds were catching wind. The dew drops seem to have turned into a translucent liquid, and they were staring at me. And when I opened my eyes. I could feel the softness of your lashes, as they lovingly brushed against mine.

If you were to mix an Ekta Kapoor with a Munshi Premchand and add a dash of R.K.Lakshman to it, you will get an Ankita Sharma. I just finished reading her book of short stories and discovered a very different Anki from the mellow blogger I have followed for long. The Wedding Trousseau and other short stories is published in India by Humming Words Publishers and contains eleven really short and widely diverse stories. However, there is an invisible thread that connects them. They are all stories from our everyday milieu. The protagonists are all people you come across everyday. The frustrations, the taboo's, the deep rooted social norms, divides and beliefs and longing and mystery and laughter, these fill each page. From the abject poverty of a Chottu to the blatant hubris of his memsahib, from UFO sightings to a drunk wife beater, these stories make the ordinary, extraordinary. My best wishes to my favorite fellow blogger. And for those who wish to order online, it is available her...

What happens when waterfalls dry up? She asked me one day. The steady deluge turns into a drip and then down below, it leaves muddy memories from the time when all was well. The parched rocks smolder and dries up the last memories of the water that once fell from above. And then there is dust and death and silence and waiting... And waiting. Who waits Raj? The universe, Princess. The roundness of the cavity into which water once fell, waits for its purpose. The smoothness on the rock faces nurses its hope and waits as well. The spawns and the lichens and the catfish and the lovers... everybody waits Princess. What if water never falls again? What if the river has dried up for ever? What if it has changed its course? Will they still wait? They will Princess. My universe will never accept that possibility. It survives on perpetual hope. Hope is good. It nurses convenient memories over generations of adversities. We hope, therefore we are.

The night went crazy With all the bantering throughout the night And when the candles gave up And the waiters stole a wink And the guests on other tables Slowly made their way to someplace else I knew that the best of us Had only begun.

Don't look at me that way I am not the silences you wish to seek. For deep within me rages A fiery storm that consumes, And my love I cannot buy you peace.

That time in life When in the heat of smoldering summer Wild blush of spring roses Bloom on your dimple cheeks, When dead daisies from last season Flower fragrant in your breeze. It is that time in life When life  itself Swings to fluttering rhythms Of a beautiful butterfly wing. When wild flowers burst forth A parched desert dune And hope that lay dormant From long years of arid ennui Springs and bursts forth Shoots of living green. Live on, I say For these are not moments that you lose To thoughts of yesterday Or hopes of a tomorrow That may never come.

How I hate the silly perfumed wind As it rushes to breeze you in. That stupid oyster grain As it delicately dangles Between those secret place I believe Are oh so mine! That hint of a bindi blazing fire consuming All my worlds all the time.

The setting sun down west Put up such a splendid show in red I had to hurry down to you my love In case You had for a change Given away too much of your blush!

Cobblestone pavements Naughty Kites that once flew into the horizons The faint aroma of a robusta, rightly brewed The smell of Jasmines buds, recently sprinkled The big temple bells' chime An old Morris minor, polished chrome gleaming My English teacher's lipstick Grandma reciting grand tales from the Mahabharata A long competing hooting bout with a Cuckoo A short rare one with a crow pheasant. Thoma on his ancient cycle, selling fish Eliamma's six felines courting Thoma all the time. Green from the paddy fields of yore Red from the fiery musandas Yellow from the April showers White from my grandmas starched mundu   Love from your letters Reached out and colored All of my remembered universe Until I safely stored them For another lifetime. Come away The cities have invaded our kind countrysides Grandma is no more And the kids of today Don't bother with real kites. We will meet again And rebuild our little lives One cobblestone at ...

The silences that fall over oceans Once the Ships that set sail Reach their shores. The darkness that fall over walls And curtains of a theatre Once the play is done. The feeling of that full stop Which placed right at the end foretells The End.

Who is your best friend? I What do you mean I? Indu? No. Just I . Don't be crazy. Everyone has a best friend. Someone with whom you can share all your secrets, all your pains. Someone with whom you would love to walk into the sunset. Someone with whom you can share a giggle, be yourself. I do all that with myself. I have no secrets, I write.

I love to get lost And then be found again In places that I never knew existed Until I was lost And I thought I will never be discovered. I love your secret places You don't look for me there And I love it Just that way.

Every time I am with her, I am reminded of a Neruda: "I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me too." Every now and then, from the random chaos of everyday living rises a warped relationship that is funny and entropic. I love her, and sometimes, she loves me too. Every time I hold her close to me, she melts into herself, rarely have I felt her melt into me. Those proud threaded brows, with their perfumed winged lashes flutter in random anticipation of a kiss, but those eyes don't talk to my eyes, they seem to be in deep conversation, with themselves. I know her favorite dress, I know her special days, I know her fears, her dreams, most of her desires. She knows where I live, she knows what I do, not sure if she knows my middle name. She knows I have a niece, not sure if she knows about the nephew. Many years ago when I was frantically searching for a copy of Dr. Zhivago, I remember what our librarian Thomas sir told me, R, where these books go and hide, is a mystery. When ...

That shreak of surprise And delight When I first lifted you off the ground And swung you around. Your open hair fragrant Spreading a heady note Into an otherwise empty room. At that moment At that very moment in time As I looked into your doe like eyes And you looked into mine, Together We transcended time.

If you found the dawn a tad lazy today And the deep orange hues play around you For a longer while than it usually does, Remember my dear This was especially for you. For, as I watched the chariot rise I called out to the Sun for some respite. Down here lies my princess asleep Would you care to slow down For a while?

There are these places In me unknown to me. Mysterious places Rarely visited or remembered by me. That evening When you walked in with your red dress Smelling of lilies From colonel Mishra's garden And smiling like you knew me From some other lifetime, I was remembered Of a night from my teenage When I had jumped a fence To kiss a girl Who could sing like Streisand And looked like Helen. She was not for me And with time those lilies, They smelt like roses like jasmines And like other flowers, whatever you will; Until the night you walked in And I remembered how lilies smell. Much like in dreams, They smell so much like you.

Raj? Yes Princess? This rice cooker is not working! I know baby. Will repair it this weekend. How much do you earn Raj? Baby, I don't like where this conversation is going. Why have you not bought a new one? It's always the same, the burner of this ancient stove, the rice cooker, that ramshackle apology of a washing machine that you have... Why? Why don't you just get some new ones? Baby, we have discussed this before. You know I won't. Shall I gift them for you? No Princess, these don't leave my house. I can't accept new ones. Will you always always be so difficult? Yes baby, always. Why? Cause that rice cooker has been with me for 12 years. So? So I can't just chuck it. What does that mean? It means that as long as it is amenable to repairs, I will repair and use it. I will use it even if it costs me twice the cost in repairing it. I won't give up on it, until it gives up one me. Do you know how crazy that sounds? I know baby. And you are OK with it? T...

My fingers tremble I am not used to this. I wish I could use my lips To pick them all. Every bit of you Smells so much like you. Even this little lock of hair As it frolics on this floor Smells of your Shampoo And is so full of you. And as I try to hold them A small draught of your wild wilderness catches a wind And they go sliding through my fingers On to the floor, again To be courted and loved and longed Until finally coiled and entwined Off they come with me Into my forever times. Also appeared in Muse India

That slight tremor at a touch And those glazed eyes measuring How much you possibly mean to me And how much of the surreal Is real Those subtle hints of ownership Of someone you believe Can't be owned. That desperation for another hug Before time intervenes And rips us apart. I now live a day at a time And count my days As one with those filled with you The rest My love I do not remember To have ever lived.

On a dark magenta evening I could see bright ochre leaves Falling wearily on to a willing ground Awaiting one final embrace From those Who had once moved up In search of life Outside a lemon yellow shoot That eventually turned A dull dreary brown With all this tired living.

There is a futility in loving you I know that you grow in lonely places in me And will eventually Kill me. There is a futility in loving you Like moss that grows in my village well Beautiful But treacherous, you see. There is futility in loving you Like arsenic Green and lifeless Someday I shall be. There is something about you Around you And in places and things and sounds and stains and smells of you, That softly weighs on my soul. It’s like a background score From a movie Time forgot. There is futility in loving you And as I watch myself softly sink I remember how you smelt Of Victoria's Secret And other crazy things.   First published in Indian Sahitya, Feb 2017 Issue on Contemporary Indian Poetry

I know what it is I have lived through this before. It starts with a simple ping A rather unnoticed query Reaching out to the heart admin. As I fight to forget you You quickly upgrade yourself From a PUP to a malware And then to a virus that destroys Any semblance of control That I thought I had on my thoughts. What shall I do with you When every time I run away from you You crash my OS with your thoughts. Come hack me forever my dear And turn me into a zombie Forever playing programs That entertains you.

Come Fill my pen And flow through my little life Adding colors And forever staining What were white empty pages In waiting Endlessly For this fluid verse. Let's make love With these moments. Punctuate me So that I never run out of breath. Complete me So that there be meanings Stringed together Out of ordinary letters That etch a forever tale.

As special as every single snowflake Before it falls on to the other And becomes ice. As special as the first born After years of thankless Tyranny of time. As special As the memory Of our first kiss. As special As first love As the first rains The first house The first pay The first dance The lost ones The loved ones The dear Lord And This life With you in it.

There was a turn up ahead on the road. A turn that I did not want to take. There are times when you don't want any further changes in your life at the moment. It was one such moment in my life in time. However, the concept of having a choice is rather overrated. If I had a choice, I would have become a deodar tree in the middle of Indian rain forests and lived quietly for a million years. Such choices are never available. There was a turn up ahead on the road. The turn required of me to move along its contours. The turn wished of me to succumb to it's long curves and stay away from its guarded rails. Missing the turn would have meant a dive into the setting sun. I can imagine how it would have felt, a white car trying to land on the setting sun. As the sun's saffron hue set the horizons on fire, I once again found myself on a road that leads to you.

I change my name when I am home. The person who cooks bakes cleans mops and goes about keeping a very clean house is not me. It is someone else living in me. Her name is Rajesh Kumari! It took years for the beautiful girls at Spencers to believe that I am single and I buy provisions for all of myself. In India, you cannot be 40 and single. Its too strange in too many ways for too many people. A typical Indian male is an infant forever on the verge of growing up, but never actually getting there. When the 27 year old is finally weaned away from his mom, he quickly learns to latch on to the young Indian wife who is supposed to suckle him till worlds end. Most men from my generation have rarely held a knife in their hands. Kitchen was always moms forte and then it was the wife's job. Most guys don't know how to fold a vest and the brief is something which is supposed to magically get cleaned and made available by the mom, or the thingy you call wife. If you show them a ridged gour...

I have often been flagged down By random strangers looking for a ride.. Which way they would ask And I will tell them, I am just passing by. It's a long road I have traveled And with me on this journey Have traveled quite a few, These roads have been mostly kind And in moments of rare distress I have found strangers in my life, Kinder than the friends around. Don't honk too loud behind me I shall allow you a pass without a murmur I have been a rider on this road for long There is really no place I call myself a home Even as you hurry ahead Remember brother I am just passing through.

Would you like to have a bigger house, a bigger car and more money into your accounts? This is a question that has been thrown at me several times in the past. It is also a question upon which I have given many hours of thought. My name is Rajesh. It is a very common name in India. Already 2% of all men, if not more, will have this name. My other name is Kumar. A good 5% of population will share their second name with me. There is nothing in my name that forces me to believe that I am either better off or worse off than anyone else. However, when my grandma used to call my name, she made it sound like the best possible name in the universe. When my dad introduces me to his friends, and ads "my son" to my name, he makes it sound like no other name. When my sister or my cousins speak of me, they make my name sound quite like a la George Clooney. When my boss calls out my name, with a string of superlatives and expletives, he makes it sure that everyone knows...you need to be a ...

Kiss me everywhere Stain my whites Let there be pink creases on my arms And let the glitter flakes raise a sparkle. When I walk into the night tonight Let there be disco lights all around. I pray for people to stop and stare And with a scandalous tch! tch! Look at me and think of you. Go on Princess Paint me in all your hues.

I do not love you Like the way those teenagers do. I love the fall of your velvet skirt I love the waves I love the crests I love how you look at me With that new burgundy gloss Pouting Waiting. I cannot love you Like teenagers do.

I followed your trail through the ancient by lanes of my memory. I could see your footprints span across all my remembered life. I have never really trusted my memory. I forget more than I remember. But of this I am sure, that those footprints are not from this life. These are from every life I have ever lived.

I love your play. I love it when you stand close enough for me to breath in your Gucci. I love it when you lean on me, your hair falling on my shoulders and parts of you brushing against me. There are fires that burn without and the ones that burn within. I love the way you control this combustion!