Rolling Over


My low life
A mindless celebration
Past indulged wasted
Wavering faith
Vacillating between hilarity and despair
Present humped by installments
Future chiseled by installments
plus late fee charges
I’m fifty-five
midlife crisis ?
I’m a poet
Forever in crisis
Am I complaining ?
Oh No !
I’m dealing with life
Very good

Oh yes !
I gel my hair, style my bald patch
A cover shy with bare strands of grey
An over-sized beer belly
I camouflage flawless
Walking straighter, tighter
My shirt tucked in
I can barely breathe

I enter a packed bar, music buzzing
Spirits flowing, swirling bodies
Rubbing asses, indiscreet
I step in real cool
To the groovy beat
A couple of drinks
Witty conversation
and she’ll be all over me

And so it happens, every single night
My regular barkeep, a nice soul
He hears me
Till I go quiet
He slides me the check
So long!
And I am gone

Did you notice me?

Friendly Neighbourhood.

Nepal is a neighbouring country of India in case you don’t know. I live in India. I guess you know. We got similar traditions, common language, people are nice there and we like them.

Any Indian or for that matter Nepalese, can work, own a property and legally stay for unlimited time in either country. This pact was signed in 1950, also referred as The 1950 Indo-Nepal Treaty of Peace and Friendship.

We don’t get along well with most of our neighbours. Our politicians say, they are mean and we believe. So obviously, you need resources, weapons, infrastructure to keep vigil. Moreover, a recession every eight years, local issues, constipation, too much to deal with so we outsource most of our defence equipment.  Thing is, we have to keep a few businesses illegal or outsource them as politicians are always in need of money for elections, foreign trips and Swiss bank account is a common Indian dream.

Talking about outsourcing, the Indian Army has seven Gorkha regiments of Gorkha troops recruited mostly from Nepal. Great warriors, their contribution to India is phenomenon. Former Chief of Staff of the Indian Army, Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw, once famously said about Gurkhas: “If a man says he is not afraid of dying, he is either lying or is a Gurkha.”

To add here, during the cremation of Shiv Sena chief Bal Thackeray, his son Uddhav asked Champasingh Thapa, his father’s assistant for years, to participate in the last rites. In Sena circles, he was referred to as Thackeray’s shadow.

So now that we’ve covered the ground let’s look at the pictures I’ve got for you. I tend to write something, anything, a ritual before I make myself a drink. That keeps me off guilt.

Guilt is a bad trip. Trip to Nepal is on my mind. I strictly advice my friends to keep away from guilt. Bad stuff happens. We make mistakes. Write a poem about it and let it go. Drink and moan over past blunders is a no no. Women? Maybe we’ll talk about it in my next post.

My grandfather was my best teacher. He’d often say, “Son, alcohol is more expensive than ghee(clarified butter)” and ghee was divine to him but so was whiskey. He would take a pause and add, “So, drink wisely and have a good time.”

Anyway. So a little note about the pictures below.
Indian cop nabs two Nepalese at Kanpur railway platform before they can board the train. Why? Just. Corruption. To extract a few bucks from harmless souls is an everyday story in my country rather we are quite adjusted to this as routine.


In the final image cop is counting money.
End of show.

The Saint


I realized, not in time
To serenade you
I mute my sermon
Amuse your senses
A joy, a laugh, a tear
And before you wipe me off
I fall into your bosom

Man Kind


I envy a dog’s life
His bite traded me
To the injector
Five times
To insulate me from
Rabbi or Rabies?
I get confused between the two

I envy a pig’s life
He binges aplenty
In the balmy sauna
Rated by performance
Not by bank balance

I envy the blood-sucking mosquitoes
Before you curse, slap hard
They are gone, only to return
If I rob a bank, I go to jail
When bankers steal
Government prints them more money
Taxes me

But I don’t envy the roaring tiger
His prowess, unworthy
His dominance, unflattering
He succumbs to the mean arrows
Chopped, traded
Skin to teeth

Lamp Post


Who resisted me
Didn’t love me
But lassoed me

Most of them I laugh at
Single, wasted, single again
The rest will follow soon…

My beer belly
The keynotes

My stained teeth
The carat gold

My hair receding…
The new moon

I’m a savior
A dog
But this is my lamp post

Where are you baby?
I can barely see you baby…



when you are talking to yourself
in a train, peak hours
later in a hustling local bar, happy hours
and finally a real conversation
with your cat-mouse chasing feet
till you hit your bed
that’s poetry



I’ve rewritten my poem “Infantaria” as a short story. I hope you like it.

Call out for Fernandes, you’ll meet a Fernandes. Any restaurant or a bar in Goa, you got to find one perhaps two.
I had but found a forsaken table in an odd corner by a stupid well propped up with a drab metal bucket, an Old Portuguese house, now a colonial café “Infantaria”
I dread stepping in bars, with no bar counters, no bar stools. You got no choice but to sit on a table of two or worse four. The empty chairs moan their fate, people brazenly stare at you. Yes! I’m a loser and I need a drink badly.


“Was I loud?”

Puny nose, squeaky eyes, lips like two thin blades, chop-chop monster frowning at me. MEAN!

“Fernandes, large rum and a beer pint.”

I sneaked a glance. Her fiery eyes glued on me. She was waiting for a sign, any sign to tear me apart.

“Ahem…Fernandes, get me a repeat, I hate to wait”

Two on table no 6. I could hear her squirrel, black halter, back facing me, curvy neck, few strands of her hair waving me hello. Guy with her was smothering his belly. Severe case of ulcer. Table no 5. Tender face, nice smile, gentle eyes paused on me. I let her go. She was cute. I had to. Outside on the bench a couple, hooked on a joint. They seemed alright. Table no 11. Two quiet couples. Mid-life crisis.

Right then, she walks in and I liked her very much. Strawberries chimed on her fluttering feathers, streaks of red splashed on my cheeks, a blush. She noticed me. I smiled. She smiled back, lit a cigarette, surfed her bag, pulled out a book. The author had her.


But I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her light brown hair tied back, the tail resting on her shoulder, almost touching her breast. Her loose white shirt, top two buttons unhooked and I could see her flawless skin breathing gently as she slid the pages of her book.

She ordered a clear soup. She was on liquid diet just like me.

“Fernandes, another repeat”

She called for her check. I in a jiffy got up, followed her waiter. I didn’t care to wait for Fernandes, I never did.
“I need my check, right now”
I cleared my bill, walked out of the place and stood at the entrance. I held a fresh cigarette between my fingers and waited.
I knew it was her.
“You got a light on you?” I barely managed.
I could feel her warm breath on my folded hands holding a lit match close to her face. Pretty eyes.
She took a drag from her cigarette, so was I from mine.

“Care for a walk?” I had a look of a beggar.

“Let’s go to the beach. Its quieter there” She calmly replied.

I climbed on the back seat of her rented bike. She started. I held her with unsteady hands as we cruised through quaint streets.

We walked towards the beach, back of my hand rubbing against hers. I slipped my hand in her palm. Her fingers firmed our grip. We made it to the round of the thin river stream merging into the sea, stretched out on the sand, letting the stream water breeze past our feet, our eyes gazing at the night stars but not for a bit more we could resist. We turned facing each other.


“I’m A J”

“That stands for?”



“A J”

Her sublime chuckle had me in shambles.

“Is this your first time in India?” I asked.

“Yeah” She paused, seemed a bit lost “I thought I’ll find my answers here”

“Did you?”

“No in fact I’m left more confused, and it’s only getting worse”

“What’s on your mind?” I inquired.

She pressed her lips, looked me in the eye. Blood gushed in my head and I threw myself in her arms. We kissed.
Sand sucked us in her hollow. Tequila waves high on full moon slipped behind the sly cloud and a lonesome jived with strings of his guitar not so far away but my bladder was pounding for a release. I had the most beautiful woman in my arms but my bladder…

“Damn! Can you give me a minute?”


I got up, looked at the wide beach to find some place to walk behind and empty. The nearest shack was 300 mts away. I walked as far as I could hold and unzipped. “This is so uncool” I was so miffed with myself and the damn thing just won’t stop.
On my way back, I pondered whether to take her at my hotel room or hers, “God, forgive me. I cursed you a lot yesterday. Peace”
She was waiting for me but upright, bag on her shoulder, she looked not the same woman. Something had changed. She stepped forward, gave me a peck on my cheek and she left. I chased her but she waved me off. Just a while before she had me and I had her, the moonlit sea, our kisses and the quicksand.

My phone rang.

“Our microwave is a mess”
“What happened now?”
“Don’t talk to me like that as if it’s my fault. This thing just won’t heat up. I don’t understand. Everything is in a mess here and you’re in Goa. For what? Why can’t you write here at home, dammit”

“Sweetheart, I’m coming back. We’ll buy a big one, a very big one”

I’m damned

A life less dead


There’s no unrest around me


For freedom, peace or brotherhood


No pain, no endeavor

No mate, no love


Youth stained


The worldly-wise hail “Greed is good”

The trouble makers chant “Hare Rama Hare Krishna”


Capitalism will always find its way
War or stimulus, either way
Red flag nation is the destination


Mergers and acquisitions
You bet, that’s the game


Warren Buffett, Bill gates are best sellers
Good book pale decays


I’m damned
Dead burdened by installments
Taxes and dry days

The money lenders
Then, were well-behaved
Now, the recovery agent knocks me down
When I fail


That’s not all
NGOs and Politicians wise up after sun sets

Gandhi features on funky t-shirtsIMG_8462
Where does it all end?!
“Care for a drag?”IMG_1527
I’m damnedIMG_8827
So damnIMG_8836

Reporting from Kodak Theatre


Stars don’t shine
Like how you’ve been told
They’re mere bulbs
Star-shaped, lit up
What a waste!

Poor sun out-does them every morning
They appear the moment
He retires for the day

At the local bar every night
We shoot them down, random
Fools make a wish
They say it’s lucky omen

That’s not all!
They flaunt on the red carpet
In Armani, Gucci
Brands need Brands
To make fumbling speeches
Sob sob

Hold on –

Walks in the dude
Daniel Day-Lewis
Hear the applause
Watch him talk
And Meryl smiles…
Oh yes
Oh no
Oh yes

I’m such a waste!