Works of RK

I think we are just to many of us. The last I read, one in ten denizens of this world lives in India. Maybe this is why as a nation we encourage more of our countrymen to die like dogs everyday. For a casual onlooker, it will be hard to see through this veil of English speaking media and urban middle class slumber. You have to look closer and then you will see the gross death that lurks all around us. The problem is far greater than one well covered and highlighted rape. In India, your gender does not matter, you are raped anyways. Consider this, our roads kill about 17 Indians every hour and maims twice as many. The Gau Mata probably will account for some of these deaths and the rest are by trucks parked on highways, trucks coming in opposite directions on a the 6 lane highway to avoid taking a larger round about, drunk drivers and villages playing Russian roulette with their lives on the road etc. Some bit of death might also be due to speeding in the absence of policing and step cur...

It is done. My mom called it in My sisters sang FB and Whatsapp confirmed it My colleagues cut a cake and celebrated it I am 39 and that is it.

Should there be some reason Why you invade my thoughts When I am least expecting your knock And you have no business to come calling. Or is it that you think of me At odd times and without any rhyme or reason And your thoughts make way to me Through the dense fog of everyday living It might even be that your thoughts punctuates My every day stupid living And every time I stop to catch my breath from this living I think of you.

I can see your blinking lights I have felt the change in speed At every turn and every bump The distance have increased Would you as you make that turn Slow down a second and bid adieu A casual wave of hands will do A fleeting glance my way will do. The roads in our lives have twists and turns And they crisscross in mysterious waves One running into the other The other running into yet another And together, they form our web of life And hold us captive till we die. We will meet again my love There are no permanent goodbyes

Utramel Temple is the designated aboard for the soul of my grandmother to rest, until it is its turn to be born again. I went there today with my dad and my uncle, three people she loved beyond human reason. In Utramel rests some ten generations of elders of our family. Its a small temple, a little unkempt, with very dense foliage in the boundaries. I asked my dad why they don't keep it clean? The "Kavu" is never cleared, he said. The dead are resting there, you don't want to disturb them, do you? I don't know, I said. If my disturbing could bring grandma back, I would. We walked back home, her two sons and her only grandson, together.

May some dreams perish For new ones to take shape From the Ashes of the ones that we buried In hope of better tomorrows. Death is the only guarantee To new life. Kill me...every time you need To be born again.

Some day I will sink into your past Like a forgotten memory misplaced And when there are ripples in your lake You will remember of me In its little dancing waves. On cold winter nights When you light a cigarette The smoke that gets into your eyes Will make you cry And leave you wondering if it were the smoke Or some memory that got dredged up in time This will happen. And now that I need to exit your tomorrows I will continue forever in your yesterdays. Live long...for with you I live along.