Works of RK

There is much to learn from my mom and dad. My mother is my dads centre of the universe. He cooks for her, buys stuff for her and cares for her in ways that are incomprehensible to me. Twenty years ago when they first separated to live in two different cities, I remember dad crying over the dinner table. The years that mom lived in Kerala were years when dad would criss cross the country many times a year to be with her. And now that mom has retired, they live together again, like a fiery thunder living with a silent lake. Mom is like that. Silent, not very expressive and strictly mind my own business type. She thinks too much with her head and dad is greatly driven by passion and emotion. I wish I were capable of loving someone half as much, in a subtler more subdued manner. Someday I will.

I chanced upon your linked in update, It says you have moved on. I know that you have left my town A town for which you had mixed memories Of love longing and pain. You could have dropped a line I know it is difficult for you It would have been easier on me. Yesterday on my way back home I saw someone like you on the road The winter fog seems to be playing games For in the heart of winter chill I felt the warmth of summer breeze. You are my sunshine You keep shining still :-)

The warmth of your breath near my ears The feel of your free flowing hair brushing my shoulders The fragrance of your perfume Tingling all my senses. Let the world come to an end tonight For I don't want to live in my tomorrows anymore.

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