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What trees can be




I walk through the world
reminding myself that the trees are awake
That they can hear the joke of a leaf curling down to leave
That they look winter in the eye
& do not think spring!
But it had not always been this way

Because there have been days when I thought
They can be bus drivers someday
Hoping while honking that they can be
Mathura road someday. That being
cotton clouds can also be a possibility.
Basically, I would want each of them
remaining for eternity.




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Almost all my returns are well timed with how the sky back at home should look

A clear-dandruff like collection of cloud should mean, I am coming to the ruffle of leaves. A cue to the coral should mean it is 7 and I am to miss tea. A well stationed azure should mean the bus will have left by the time I reach. A wind is still learning to settle what it is going to leave behind. On the roads when people spill along with brown leaves, there is a reflection Of a chai spilled, a biscuit broken — A tip to summer and an earthworm. When I arrive early, I take a longer route. When I arrive late, I am already seeing the sky at home (but at some other place). Glad that the one thing that won’t move with me will be this scene. I am occupied in looking around because I do not need to carry the sky, or pack it, or remember it forever. Also, I can’t really do any of those things. Even knowing that my travels speak to me More about home, should have made me feel adjusted. Most days, I feel Well Traveled.

Didi tum maar khaogi?

When she says: Didi tum maar khaogi? My little neighbour states the very obvious. Her elder sister has just pushed her off the back seat of their red bicycle. There is another who is busy drawing herself in circles behind the cycle. She goes round and round and round… The youngest one of them hasn’t turned up today. She is busy creating an earth on the wall below this floor. When the neighbour repeats: Didi tum maar khaogi? The one behind the cycle, Circling, answers: “Haan. Abhi plate laati hun!”