A letter to nobody

Dear Nobody,
My mind is filled with so many questions that I thought I better spit them out. You might not be able to come up with answers to them, or maybe to some you could. In either case there is no harm in trying. So, here I begin…
Why do Delhi girls wear their dupattas like terrorists, covering their head and face? Is it because they are trying to scare people off or because they are trying to get mixed in the crowd like dust? Is it because it lends them some invisible anonymity or because they don’t like how they look?
Why is it that sex is associated with nights? Why only when you spend the night out it also means you must have done that? Is it not possible to make out during the day time? Then why is there such a big hullabaloo about being out at night?
Why is it that people get shocked when a girl is out at night? Why is it that the ‘night’ is owned by men? Why is it that good girls (I find these words offensive, but I am making an exception right now) can’t walk alone on the road at night? Why restrict our lives to the days and retire at night?
Why do people keep pets? Why don’t they keep other people? Hungry people, poor people, old people, orphans….there are so many breeds to choose from.
Why is it that the very birds which we write poetry about irritate us no end when they start living in our air conditioner?
Why aren’t there windows anymore? I shall not even mention the ventilators.
Life is full of sound and fury and has no meaning. Every one has heard that. Then how come everyone is chasing something or other always? Well this is not making sense anymore. I shall stop here and now. Thanks for listening my dear Nobody.

Stories in 55 Words

55 # 4
“Lovely my dear… pretty earrings” complimented someone. A smile touched Amina’s lips but didn’t reach her eyes. She ignored the guilty drone inside her head. All she wanted was to look beautiful. That day too she wanted the earrings. No reason, no excuse. She didn’t have the money to buy, so she just took it.

55 # 5
Today I retire. I have been drinking since morning. I am not unhappy. Good retirement benefits always help. They have found a successor for me. I am not unhappy. People don’t respect my job. But my father did it and my grandfather too.  I am not unhappy. I will be hanging the last man today.

Stories in 55 Words

55 # 3.
“Isabel you cannot leave” says Aaron weeping. “What will I do without you dear? It’s all because of the work. When things are not under control I just lose my temper.” Isabel remembers the numerous times he had got drunk and spoken like this. Yet like every time she replies “I know… I know boss”.

Stories in 55 Words

55 # 1.

I didn’t know I would find her address like this. Four years after I came back. Not in any yellow pages. Not even from uncle. I found it on the temple steps. On one of the worn-out marbles steps. “Pridarshini Rai, 6.10.1985 - 16.03.2009, 41 Mandi Road, Madhopur, Madhya Pradesh.” I was a year late.

55 # 2.
When she slept like a child with her mouth slightly open, it evoked certain tenderness in you. A sudden urge to protect her. She resembled someone, maybe my cousin, maybe someone else. She is stirring awake now. I better hurry up with another doze of camphor and make that ransom call to her bastard father.

Glimpses from Assam

Crossing the Saraighat Bridge over the mighty Brahmaputra. 'Sarai' in local languages means birds while 'ghat' stands for a bank. This means Saraighat is the bank where birds come to drink water.
A very popular fragrance of Assam
On our way to Sualkuchi
A little boy called Rubul in a farmhouse of Sualkuchi. Rubul's Mom is the housekeeper of the farmhouse.
Rubul's mom agrees to strike a pose
Naughty Rubul is excited to seeing our camera
Organic farming, seen here are huge pumpkins
A view of the countryside
Flora at the farm
That's an arecanut tree, popularly know as tamul in Assamese or supari in Hindi. In Assam serving arecanut to guests is considered to be a mark of honour and tradition.
Farm produce being sold at the local market
Rubul plays with two jackfruits produced at the farm
Rubul wants us to taste some good home made olive pickles
Woman from the countryside
A farmer hurrying towards the market
A guava tree bears fruit
More from the farm
A different looking gourd. Here the gourds are longer and stronger.
Assam, infact the whole of north east is full of greenery
That's a local vegetable called 'bhat kerrela'
That's a betel leaf
More local people. Simple and grounded.


Like the stars
Who shine at a distant a horizon
Like you yearn for them knowing well
You can never reach them
I love you
Accepting with heavy heart
That this distance is important
That pining for you is just
A trivial part of loving you
It can never encompass
The emotions that have been travelled
And that this endless tale will be experienced
With the knowledge that
Far away in the distant
You are shinning with glory
With simply your memory
My life is infinity.


Your thoughts, your words
Your lopsided smile, your tears
Your silence, your banter
Your fact, your fiction
Your ego, your stubbornness
Your touch, your dreams
Your eyes and the mole within
Your presence, your absence
I am living with all of them.

Glimpses of Lansdowne

The view from the cab

Ting Tong


Leafy way

The nest

A visitor

Living on the edge

The winding way

A stolen shot

Once upon a bridge


Stooped by the little burdens
I walk ahead
Finding my way down new paths
If I stumble, I shall get up
If I am lost, I shall find a way
But the truth is...
I will keep looking back for your shadow
And wonder
If your eyes are still on me?
I wish not to meet you again
But only that
Hope will keep me going.