Postcard to Friends

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My friends can’t believe I took that picture. No one believes I stepped out early morning with my camera. I’m quite infamous for my late nights. My perfect day starts around noon and this is officially my first early morning outdoor picture and later I remembered a distant friend once asked me and I told him, I take pictures and he smirked “No way, photographers wake up in the wee hours and head places…”
Ignorant fool, I thought of him then and believe me, he is an idiot. He made a mean remark, I’m sure you’ll agree. 23 days gone since I walked on the beach, that quaint, peerless morning….let me say, true friends look beyond what time you wake up.

The Candy Man

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Fun guy, he loves kids and they adore him. He keeps away from grownups, they too.

No. 5

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fly in my room
whirring buzzing…
my unsteady eyes
chasing the
Hungarian dance

night was sombre
whisky bought me sleep
and the sly fly was smooth
on me
like bourbon

The Salad Guy

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It took a couple of seconds but then it struck me in a flash. I was driving at a speed of 70 on a remote state highway passing through the outskirts of a tiny Indian village.

I backed my car, went over, asked him to cut me a fresh bowl. “Dude, you’ve styled your hair?!”

“Brylcreem” He snorted “By the way, Mister, there ain’t much left on your head” (That’s the picture moment)

“Ahem…I’m a writer”

“Quit it. I love to chop but in a restaurant kitchen, the oven heat and closed room messes my hair. So I’m here in the open. Got it?”

Dynamo

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I stay in her house when I visit Ladakh. Her son is my dear friend though he doesn’t approve of my relationship with her. She is fond of me, very much and ditto. As of date, I’ve secured a few mother figures to compensate for one, she’s a special one. There was no water supply for three days and you need the water in the storage tank for cooking and bathing, leaves behind dirty linen unattended and that’s a reason suffice for the wayfarer to set out in the afternoon, hunt a spot by the banks of Indus river, make us wash our clothes on rocks and it was an event.
A picture of her after she wrapped.

Fate Sealed

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Pulp of the heartwood
Embeds my poems
Laddered with the stench of pigments and dyes
Ink rollers and the water rollers
On the plate round
Inciting the offset
To impose
His ignoble authority
My imperious puke in blind uniformity

I won’t be I
No more
Shuddering amongst the bestsellers
Discounted, pleading for attention
Your fluttering slave forever
The heartwood grumbles its forsaken fate
Brahms performs scrupulously
Stop rewind play
Quintet