Monday, 18 December 2017


Answers to all our questions are buried deep within us.
Dig a little deeper and they shall find us.

We don't find them for we are dishonest with ourselves.
Let honesty do the searching and they shall find us.

Questions don't arise for we expect answers from others.
They are directed towards others  for we  are afraid of answering them.

Let integrity do the questioning and the answers shall find us.

Friday, 8 December 2017

Chasing time- 2

That time of year is here. Nostalgia personified. Time to count blessings, looking back and pondering what all happened. What all could not happen and what all could have happened.

As if it were just yesterday, the same day, the same time. Same flowers blooming, same migratory birds nesting, same temperature, rain, snow, chill in the air.

Like a flash it went by! Every wish sent to people, like it was written yesterday. The same parties, thankfully  surrounded by the same people. Some new additions surprisingly seeming like old acquaintances. Same cheer in the atmosphere.

Same emotions wreaking havoc. The same homeless, cold people on the roads stirring deep emotions within the soul. Same sense of helplessness, restlessness and pain.

Same sense of joy and pride watching your children grow. Love, companionship amongst young and old in the family. Same sense of gain when a new member arrives in the family. The extreme sense of loss felt like a huge void, everytime remembering those lost.

Years passing by, one at a time but like on a speedboat, zooming past. Memories merging into each other like a dream, senselessly mixing people , events from past and present together.

Like a joyride, rollercoaster years, same posts, photos, comments, likes on the social media. The decorated Christmas trees, the dancing , singing , drinking, New Year's Eve parties. Identical situations yet...

The year is brand new, time lapsed, 12 months gone, countless breaths drawn. Mind absorbing pain and pleasure like a sponge. Countless moments lost, countless moments acquired. Bonds formed and broken, relationships strengthened, weakened.

The familiarity of "Sameness" embracing in comfort. The excitement of unknown giving sense of adventure. Family, friends giving  love, hope and the strength to go on. Go on chasing time!

Wednesday, 22 November 2017

Love is...

Love is...
Like the air, invisible, untouchable but paramount to life.
An emotion, a void filled, completeness, paramount to happiness.

It is...
A feeling, a whisper, a simple touch, paramount to survival.
Like a fantasy, an imagination, a dream, paramount to ambition.

Love is...
Family, friends, a society, paramount to continuation.
Celebrations, festivals, customs, paramount to joy.

It is...
Like a soul within a body, otherwise just muscles, bones, blood and nerves.
Love is paramount to existence.

Sunday, 5 November 2017


Soaking up the Sun before hibernation.
A sleep, as deep as death, necessary to survive Winters.
Sleep granting life, sleep preparing for future generations.

Monday, 23 October 2017


Leaves, lime green and lemon yellow, waiting patiently for the temperature to drop.
This year September had been unusually warm, delaying the magic show of nature.
But soon the show begins, nature adorns its most vibrant attire.

Appearance of leaves change from sparkling sunshine yellows to bright oranges.
The royal blood red deepen to sophisticated maroons. Finally resting at rusts and browns before they kiss the Earth.

Falling gently to the ground, one leaf over another, one at a time, slowly, meticulously. Leaving the tree bare.
Rising to form heaps of leaves' mountains.

Forests transform into chaos of colours, clear blue water bodies reflecting the magic.
Enhancing the effect.

Leaves breathing their last breaths, trees shedding them, saying goodbyes, letting go!
One of its kind farewell, so amazing, so breathtaking.

               Photography Credits Go To Sapna Veluri Nandakumar.

Monday, 18 September 2017


The sky is getting clearer, clouds beginning to disperse with winds of change.
The wind is getting cooler, Sun beginning to shine more often over the mountain range.

Days and evenings not somber anymore, grays converting into vibrant landscapes.
Wetness drying up, no more downpours, colours popping up like lady's drapes.

Relief from heat, break from the rains. Seems like the Earth is ready to exhale.

Sunday, 17 September 2017


Bunches of red, contrasting with greens of leaves.
Little flower umbrellas, sheltering insects from grieves.

Cool September breeze, giving respite from the heat.
Making flowers blossom, getting ready for Autumn greet.

Veteran leaves turning yellow, saying goodbyes, ready to let go.
Magic of Autumn hiding within each fold, forests waiting to transform in motion slow.

Wednesday, 13 September 2017

Monsoon 7

Brilliant white surfaces when washed with rain water.
With just a hint of yellow to break the monotony.

Facing ,turning towards the Sun.
Soaking up the warmth after a wet humid spree.

Dragon fly resting peacefully, unaware of the beauty around it.
Green leaves, waiting for their turn to take center stage.

Wednesday, 23 August 2017

I Am- woman

I am my life, my happiness, my joy.
My death, my pain, my despair.

I am my actions and their consequences.
I am who I chose to be, who I strive to be.

I am my own gift, my celebrations.
My fairy, my demon, my boon, my curse.

I am my best friend, my worst enemy.
I am my grandest and most disappointing love.

I am my dreams come true, my horrifying nightmares.
My conscious, my subconscious, my morals and ethics.

I am my best teacher and guide.
I am my explorations, my experimentations.

I am the God within me, the spirituality, the salvation.
I am who I am because of the creator who created me...
...with all that I need to be, just the way I need to be.

Tuesday, 22 August 2017


History, peeping coyly through the windows of far forgotten forts, palaces and temples.
Doubtful of how it is remembered, how it is twisted, how it is altered to attract and serve tourism.

Looking with pride at the palaces and forts standing their ground for centuries.
Awed by the river that once embraced and blessed all, now swallowing sins of people. Worshipped, for soul cleansing, while choking her.

Remembering the tenderness with which the sculptors chiselled each design. Caressing, worshipping each goddess they carved out of stone.
Recalling the rustle of the silk skirts of Queens, following their feet. Soft, tender, adorned with heavy tinkling anklets.

The reverbrating sound of the brass bell at the entrance of the temple. Recollecting the fragrant, colourful flowers she offered  with her eyes closed and soul awake, pure, in reverence.

Remembering the blinding reflection of swords shining mercilessly in the first light of the Sun.
The Sun, the sword's metal and water of river turning into gold alike.

How it was, how it is remembered now. How was it written by whom? How it was kept true and intact, how it was changed!

History, like an old lady remembers helplessly, peeping through the windows of palaces, forts and temples.

Friday, 14 July 2017

The visitors.


I am visited by butterflies, when I walk into the garden.
Yellow butterflies flying off little yellow flowers as if the whole bunch just grew wings.
Urging me to raise my arms to touch them but in vain.

I am visited by a tiny 🐦bird, when I walk into the garden.
Little black bird residing on the tall green bamboo🎍, chirping as if the bamboo found its voice.
Startling me everytime it flies away.

I am visited by ants 🐜🐜🐜, when I walk into the garden.
Tiny red ones, building anthill in a quiet corner as if  the garden were their kingdom, protecting them from rain.
Stinging me, sending shivers up my spine as soon as I step on the grass.

I am visited by strange small white  frogs🐸, when I visit the garden.
Jumping to hide in the hedge, making it shake as if the hedge acquired dancing feet.
Making me jump back, petrified their predators🐍 may follow soon.

I am visited by droplets of water falling down from wet leaves.
Creepers bowing, shaking off their flowers on me, greeting me in the mornings.
Reminding me I am alive and awake, when I visit my garden.

Wednesday, 12 July 2017

Morning stroll 3

The sky burst open like a volcano, spewing  lava in all directions, spreading, flowing like river of death. Consuming everything in its wake and its path.

It burst open like a heart, broken  into a million pieces, bleeding pain. Consuming the one whose was broken.

It's just a way of looking at things,

for the sky exploded with warm gentle sunlight, spreading, flowing like river of life. Reviving everything in its wake and its path.

It exploded like a heart, into a million pieces, with joy that could'nt be contained inside anymore. Revitalizing, disburdning, whose burst.

It's just a way of looking at things,

For even if it were lava, time turns the fields of destruction into most fertile lands.
For even if the heart were broken, time gives ample opportunities to heal and repair, turning it into flourishing abode.

It's just a way of looking at things.

Thursday, 15 June 2017


Waiting for the first monsoon shower, the one which will leave in its wake, gift of Life.

Friday, 9 June 2017


Trust is the essence of a strong mutual bond. Everyone has their own perception of trust. It is difficult to understand and estimate it. The sanctity of a relationship can be easily compromised if there is slightest of breach in trust.

It is not a constant, it is a random variable. The value keeps changing with each action. The action could be the slightest of change in the whole equation.

Trust is also not a bank account where one keeps getting interest on it once it is earned and deposited. The Principal has to be maintained otherwise it keeps fluctuating.

It is like hard earned income, very hard to earn but easily spent or lost if one is not handling it judiciously. One needs to earn it, save it, invest in it, cherish it and finally enjoy it.

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

"At home"

The restlessness, the breathlessness, the sleeplessness, the anxiety is all put to rest;
when all the souls and energies belonging to a household are  safe within the  confines of the Home.

No more  do the nights make suspicious sounds, no more do you desperately wait for the birds to start chirping at dawn,  no more do you wish for someone to be awake at ungodly hours to converse with.

Heart, mind and soul are at rest;
when everyone you care for is  within the safety of the Home.

Monday, 22 May 2017

Morning Stroll 2


A huge amber in the making, fossilized resin with tree inside.
Tree resembling a twig, a leaf, branches resembling veins dried.

Precious gemstone waiting to be formed, valued priceless.
Adorning heirlooms of memories, to be passed on to generations.

But only the resin being the golden orange sunlight, but only the amber our world.
The heirloom a morning cherished and saved, in the locker of our hearts impearled.

                     Photo Credits Go To Zubin Oommen Ittyerah

Sunday, 21 May 2017

Summer Bloom 3

A flower, a fruit, a flower inside of a fruit, a fruit inside of a flower!

Wednesday, 17 May 2017

The morning stroll

                           Photo Credits Go To Zubin Oommen Ittyerah

  Walking hand in hand towards rising hope, welcoming a new day.
   On a road uncluttered and clear made of faith.

   Cool, calm breeze ruffling the hair, could turn into a storm.
   Reminding, urging to be one another's  pillar of strength.

   Flowers of prosperity blooming, filling the heart with contentment.
   Finding joy in each other's company, feeling safe.

   Street lights , the guiding lights, like the trust within.
   For life will happen everyday if we have each other.

Thursday, 11 May 2017

Summer Bloom 2

The brighter the Sun, the brighter is the fuscia. Colour intensifying with the intensity of the Sun as if sunlight flows in the veins of the bougainvillea.

Tuesday, 25 April 2017

I am - Woman

I am my life, my happiness, my joy.
My death, my pain, my despair.

I am my actions and their consequences.
I am who I chose to be, who I strive to be.

I am my own gift, my celebrations.
My fairy, my demon, my boon, my curse.

I am my best friend, my worst enemy.
I am my grandest and most disappointing love.

I am my dreams come true, my horrifying nightmares.
My conscious, my subconscious, my morals and ethics.

I am my best teacher and guide.
I am my explorations, my experimentations.

I am the God within me, the spirituality, the salvation.
I am who I am because of the creator who created me...
...with all that I need to be, just the way I need to be.

Sunday, 16 April 2017

Summer 5

Let's escape to a place where the water hasn't yet evaporated from the ponds, lakes and rivers.
Where bare feet can still walk on dew covered blades of grass in the mornings.

Let's go to a place where chirping birds are the only alarms in the mornings​.
Where silence wakes you up as sunlight peeping through the curtains.

Let's escape to that place where peacocks scream and dance to forecast the weather.
 Where ants predict if the rain is approaching working untethered.

 Let's go to the place where flora blooms announcing the temperature of the day.
Where sunflowers tilt towards the Sun till May.

Let's escape to a place where time is told by the length of the shadows.
Where meal times dictated by commotion at the gate by the stray dogs, going to and fro.

Let's go to a place where sparrows still exist due to lack of telephone towers.
Where people keep bird feed in bowls outside their homes with water.

Let's go to that place where people converse sitting together and not "Chat".
Where people connect through emotions and not internet.

Let's escape to the place where "web" means spiders catching dew drops like diamonds.
Where "net" means fishermen trying to catch fish near islands.

To a place where the breeze is still cool at five in the morning.
Where you wait for the day to unfold with great longing.

Monday, 3 April 2017

Summer vacations in " those days".

Our childhood fortress was the grandparent's home. Summer vacations meant all the cousins and their parents assembling at the "Fort" for almost one month.Children of all age groups and not less than two born of each couple. No matter how many rooms were prepared, spare cots had to be adjusted in each room and children mixed and matched with the most patient couples.

Elder girls had their own group who could be heard whispering and giggling throughout the day, teaching the younger ones to either learn discretion about what they heard or be chased from the room. Bollywood movies would be narrated scene by scene in the most astonishing and visual way.
Boys were more tolerant and would talk about school all day long. Some truth mixed with a lot of spicy lies to make the stories grand. The younger ones used to look up to them as heroes.

But the best group was that of the younger kids, brave little soldiers protecting their fortress during afternoons while all were napping. Each afternoon they would arm themselves with swords of papaya branches. They would maintain watch in the brutal sun circling the boundary wall of the Fort. Skin burning, eyes watering. They braved dense jungles of mango trees which used to harbor dangerous monsters in the form of black furry caterpillars in abundance on them. Shuddering and silently throwing them away with the sword if they got stuck to the clothes or hair. looking out for the neighbor's children and warning them if they even thought of stealing a single mango from the Fort's trees.

They were the ones subjected to most scrutiny, even an inch of height would make them objects of wonderment to elders, how they had grown? How they had started looking like their parents or how they did not look like their parents but some ancestor.

The endless visits to different households. Some very boring and quiet homes, where people were so well disciplined that while talking also their homes seemed quiet. We just waited for that moment when all the chatting would pause and snacks served. The restraint that needed to be displayed and the much-awaited permission given by mom's eyes that we could go for the second helping.

 Some households cheerful and sophisticated with peels of laughter arising from one and all. All this becoming truly worthwhile when the gifts or money were distributed amongst the children at the end of the visit. Adding the savings to the piggie banks. Oh ! how summers made the children rich.

The food, the variety of desserts, the never ending mango eating sessions. Grandmother never raising her voice at anyone and controlling one and all while mothers going berserk, not being able to control even two.The Arabian Nights storytelling sessions by the grandfather.

The evenings had very tired and quiet sessions with television when no one could utter a word in the presence of the grandfather while he watched Krishi Darshan ( a farming program). For after his retirement he had started taking interest in farming and grew award winning vegetables in his front yard. We could not increase the speed of the fan as he being an engineer, told us sternly that the sound got dispersed.

Nights were peaceful quiet and gave the satisfaction as if we were resting after winning the whole world.Sleep came easy and quickly, dreaming about the day's experiences which were as precious as the most expensive gems.....while our grandmom would get up in the middle of the night and check all rooms to make sure everything and everyone were fine.

Tuesday, 21 March 2017

Strokes of Nature -2

Golden Iris peeping through half open lids, welcoming morning.
Fire in the clouds spreading slowly, giving life.
A knife slitting darkness by sunlight, horizon melting with warmth.
A child's smile through grayness of mood, dawn breaking through clouds.

Strokes of Nature

The wind swirls the clouds in the sky like master strokes of an artist.
The trees reach up to the sky to catch the candy floss in the making.
 Gray hair of a lady blowing in the air.
 Chiffon of a bride trailing behind her.
 Waves in the sky, ocean upside down.
The beauty of nature is surely unbound.

Friday, 17 March 2017

The "lit up" skyline.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

It seemed as if the nature's brush had gone wild mixing colours of dusk with  just a hint of control.
The sky turned blue, grey, pink, purple about to engulf everything in darkness, when the lights "lit up" and the brush stopped!

It paused, amazed at the glitter, the light, the milky whiteness, the shimmering colours, the deep blue of water.
Witnessing merger of God's masterpiece with man's own. Who knew it was possible to paint them together?

They lit up the city, spilled colours in the river. Lights twinkled as if gems  were floating in the water.
The dark pier seemed taken aback with the surge of gold in the river, falling like  melted wax from the lamp posts.

The skyscrapers punctured the dark sky with their raised needles, pushing the blanket of darkness away.
They were the guiding lights for the night, the bejewelled crowns that command respect. The magical torches refusing to douse before sunrise.

Finally the brush abandoned the colours of dusk and began preparing the pallette​ for twilight  and dawn of another day.

                                       Photo Credits Go To Shaishav Agarwal 

Tuesday, 7 March 2017

Design 28

Holi approaching!


Impulsiveness is an important and key ingredient in a relationship. No matter how considerate, careful, truthful or honest one is in maintaining it, the slightest of impulsive reactions can sometimes prove fatal.

Unintentionally people dig valleys between themselves and their relationships with the tiniest of things. Valleys so wide that no bridge of reconciliation could ever attempt to bring them closer.

It can happen with a single word, a little hesitation, a pause, a reply given too quickly, silence, an action, a name, a smirk, a frown, raising of an eyebrow, a sigh!

It's like a drop of water in a pond but so huge is its impact that the pond runs dry at the very addition of that single drop.

Thursday, 23 February 2017

Inconsequential Actions

Someone stole my pomegranate flowers.
I had been counting days, one day at a time, for the tree to be blessed with flowers. That day arrived when the buds appeared on the branches as tiny orange teardrops. Slowly growing bigger and opening up like little butterflies with delicate wings. But the tree discarded them.They were not strong enough to turn into fruits.
The wait began again, a few months' time, slowly, one day at a time, weeks , months and the orange beads of joy appeared again. This time higher in number.They opened their wings again and yet again the tree discarded them.

The whole year had gone by, never ever had this tree been bare for so long. Miracles of the nature took charge, seasons changed and the tree was once again ready for blooming. Finally three flowers held tight to the stems,  the stems bowing gently in their honour, supporting the growing weight. My spirits soared high, the wait was over. The flowers started swelling up like a pregnant belly, the delicate petals were starting to be engulfed and protected by a hard shell, half flower half fruit. I was going to be a proud caretaker.

It was a beautiful morning, I went to water the plants and there it was! A bare tree,  as if it had suffered a miscarriage. I looked for the flowers on the ground as they never fall far from it, but they were nowhere to be found, it seems someone had plucked them.

How inconsequential the act must have been for that person? Just a fancy for orange flowers!
The same thing is true in life too, someone's hard-work, life's achievements, joys, pain rendered inconsequential in seconds by the inconsiderate action of another person.

Tuesday, 7 February 2017

Rose Day

Petal after petal, unfurling mysteries of beauty, buried deep within its folds.

Is it only for eyes or serves a higher purpose untold?

Layer after layer, offering nectar as a duty, blooming to glory for future to withhold.