Monday, March 31, 2008


These days have been misty-
Every naked truth had foggy dresses to wear.
They pranced around the hidden alleys of the mind,
Wearing blue roses in their hair.
It was a foggy night,
And the radio played sad songs.
I ran my fingers trough the album,
And saw sepia eyes talking of joys yet unborn.
A beaten grey Ambassador screeched to a halt somewhere,
The headlight gleam pierced through the fingers of night-
It twisted and turned in the long necked refuge of the red wine.
It moved and it churned till it could churn no more-
The wine painted designs of love on the white marble floor.
I think I wrote my last wish on the shards of glass with cigarette smoke,
Before I walked out into the embrace of the night, and-
Heard the whisky coloured snores of the city folk.
I walked on and I saw those dresses being shed,
All the truths, now, danced around naked-
Naked, in my head.

Monday, March 24, 2008

For Dida..

i went visiting my grandma yesterday-my Ma's Ma.she looked better than the last time i saw her (touch wood!)
considering that she always lived faraway,i never really got very close to her.but there were times when i went there and went running out into the "uthon" and invariably ran into ant hills.Dida always used to put "choon" over my feet as an antidote for the ant stings.
she was this woman who ran around that huge L-shaped house-managing the kitchen,looking after the "uthon" and "pukur" and attending to Ranga (my grand aunt) and Aku (my grand dad).Dida always brimmed with much so that she managed to dislocate her hip joint twice and fracture her leg!
but all that changed when Aku passed away.within days of his death,she became recluse-like...reading spiritual books and centering her day around "pujo".with Aku,my Dida died-she became this another person who was nothing like my Dida-she chopped off her waist length hair and ceased to be the Dida i knew-the huge bindi was gone,her hair parting looked bare without the streak of red.she looked pale in her white saris.
yesterday,when we sat chatting over our cups of tea,she spoke of Aku.she didn't cry but i knew she missed him.I knew this was what they call "love".here was this woman-who was born much before St. Valentine became a celebrity,before white teddy bears holding red hearts became famous and even before love letters became an institution in themselves-who felt lost without her husband,even years after his death.she made me read his letters (he was in the army,and had been transferred to Kashmir and Burma a lot of times)-none of them qualified as "mush".he asked her of their children's health,whether the house was been properly looked after,whether she needed money and other such mundane what was it that "drove" this love?i can't say...probably because i have been born to these times.
it's been 3 years since Aku and 10 years since Ranga left us...that huge house,with just 2 people living inside, looks scary now...except the little space where my Dida sits in silence and reads,sews and,perhaps,cries.the house has remained strong-witnessing births and has been my Dida's was this house she came into as a child bride,it was this house she breathed life into and,maybe,this is the house that will be handed over to promoters after she,too,is gone.
as i left,she hugged me and i,for some queer reason,cried.i cried as i silently prayed to Dida to be there the next time i come down.she doesn't have to be active,she doesn't have to run around,she just needs to be there...she just has to be there.

Saturday, March 22, 2008


A is for Amnesia. Of the selective kind. So that I can forget all the shit life has thrown up at me.

B is for my name-Bedatri. I hated it as a kid, but love it now for being one of its kind. And Blue. The colour.

C is for Citrus. The smell. Especially when it comes from soaps. And for Calcutta and Courage-two things I shall try and stick to unto death.

D is for “Duh” and “Dodo”-two words which punctuate my sentences.

E is for Eggs. In any form-poached, fried, scrambled, with cheese, without cheese, omlette....

F is for Finding money in some trousers' pocket when you’re broke, and for Faith. In yourself.

G is for Gariahat...the pavement libraries, Iceberg rolls, cheap clothes and cheaper jewellery...

H is for “Him”...God and “him”...the two most important people in my life.

I is for Irish Coffee, Inshallah and Ice creams...the first because I love the cream topping, the second because the word exudes hope and the third because they are man’s greatest creation after safety pins.

J is for Jealousy. The green monster strikes me anytime, anywhere.

K is for Kitsch Art.Specially when they’re on tees :)

L is for Love and cant live his youth without the first and childhood without the second.

M is for Maach and any shape, form or colour. And Momos...steamed.

N is for the “New” smell-the smell of new things-new books, clothes, houses or rains. And the not so new New Market.

O is for Oshos. Specifically from Janpath (the 90 bucks ones with flat straps)

P is for Phuchka, Park Street and Pandara Road

Q is for Quirks...these make people worth loving.

R is for Rains.they do something to me.

S is for School and its insanity.

T is for Tea. Darjeeling with a dash of lemon, 1 teaspoon sugar and no milk...Heaven!

U is for Unidentifiable...there are times I wish to know no one and to be known by none.

V is for Violet. The colour. And Violins in a rainy night and funerals.

W is for “What re?”...something Delhi has done to my vocabulary and I love saying.

X is for the kisses in XOXO,the red marks which plagued me through school and for mystery.

Y is for’s amazing what all this little word can express!

Z is for Zeeshan rolls and Biryani...Slurp!

I tag Fishy,Pongy Papaya,Neel,The Mad Girl and Onnesha.

And thanks to Mandy for tagging me.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008


am i?
memories? oh bullshit.
just get lost...i don't need your sympathies.i really don't.
close your eyes and pray hard...things will get better.
you think?

Monday, March 17, 2008


Airports are the only places which have become constants in my life. Living dual lives in cities tucked away in two different corners of the country, change has become a part of me. The chic flyovers give way to the potholed roads through that one journey made from one airport to another. At times, I feel like Ila from Amitav Ghosh’s “Shadow Lines”-I begin to understand her confusion at having to switch lives as she traverses a journey connected only by two airports. Places condition a life. Thus, with places, people change and lives change. Coping with changes are always difficult, especially when these changes are thrust upon you suddenly. But then, somehow, you live on. Airports become the only places which stand looking similar, even in different places. They, thus, become the only constant tile in the shifting mosaics of one’s life.They say, the only thing constant in life is change.
Things at home have changed, people have changed...or maybe, I have.
I had met this girl when she was three-I used to pull her cheeks really hard till she cried. There were times when someone had to put some antiseptic on her cheeks after the session of rigorous cheek pulling was over. I saw her grow up-from the chubby quiet little girl to a woman of words. She spoke with a conviction unmatched by anyone else. We had walked the same path for quite sometime-refusing to let change come in the way. But today, finally, change has brought down the house of cards we built and tried to guard against the winds of change.

I feel stupid and wronged. But maybe, even I have wronged.

Someday, after years of silence, a stranger will find this piece of writing and read it. All that will remain are these words-no masterpiece, but just a string of disjoint words.
For now, I move-just move without a meaning. I forget her. I forget that there was someone I walked this road with...till we forced each other out of our orbits. But somewhere, sometime I look at a shooting star and wish...wish that that long forgotten person would forgive me. Once again, forgive me. Forgive me for making it my tragedy.

P.S:huge problem with formatting