From a hammock in the forest

Whims and fancies

From a hammock in the forest
My tired body sunk into a hammock
High on a mountain where trees grow
Where grass feels free to scale high
Where fallen leaves roam at ease
Sunlight came in selective bursts
The branches wouldn’t let them all pass
I received what I needed though
Enough to show me the long lines
In the stillness, silence came by
No holds barred, she motioned,
No strings attached, she hushed,
Take it all, you need it, she nudged
I soaked in the moment’s beauty
When wind turned the pages,
And the trees shed a tear or two
Of yellowed leaves falling gently
The green rustled and ruffled,
Like youth crying for attention
The browned ones danced about
While the wind held their hands
I wished that moment wouldn’t arrive,
But go on forever and ever rather
The joy of life…

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The River

If I were to give my heart to a river,
This murmuring one would be the one…
For that matter, I had already given this one,
Many summers and memorable childhood daysImage
This beautiful soul has been an occupant of my heart,
For days on end, without fail now
Every day, my wandering mind travels past
Vast water bodies to reach this little one
The one that follows the many bends in her path
With so much ease and élan
That she fills my heart with joy like none
For this one and I share a bond that goes back a long time,
A really long time…
I have moved on, so have others with whom she has a bond,
But each time, we think about her, we get the same old feeling
Of wanting to take us into her fold, into her flowing waters,
Into her vigorous tidal spirit,
Bathing us with her bubbly, effervescent self,
Effusing us with her deepest sense of joy,
And here, I am, looking at this picture,
Swathed in nostalgia, enwrapped in a longing
To go back in time, just once more…

Alone, but not lonely

I don’t remember the last

When I sat like this, alone

But not lonely,

At my home,

By this table

On a peaceful evening

As the Sun sets quietly

As birds return to their nests

As leaves flutter in the breeze

I can see them move

Not only that

I look at them with longing

With joy, with calm

I love this hour,

And, it makes me long

For days when I can wander

Alone, but not lonely,

With my train of thoughts

Rolling by with me

May be a hotel room

Or a long distance train

Where I sit by the window

Sip hot coffee

Read from a book

Write a few poems

Edit my stories

And, move my dream

Of becoming a writer

Closer to reality.

Their Love

It’s noon, well and bright,

The breeze is in, going around

Taking the trees on a ride,

The sun is out, happy and content,

Shining bright though the thickets,

Lighting up patterns on the ground,

Beneath thick canopies of my Jamun tree


It’s as if there are many others with me,

For, in the wind, shadows dance,

Hopping and tottering like restless squirrels


I must go in for a nap,

My body feels the advent of age

My joints ache, my heart too,

But the reason I know not know,


I must go close the yard gates

The wind loves to swing the fastened gates,

At times, they wouldn’t give me peace at all,

The wind; it rattles the iron chain on the gates

Metal clanking metal; takes me to my past

When little children made merry

By banging metal spoons on metal plates.

But they aren’t there anymore with me…


These noises in my life;

They are disturbing, and peace-depriving,

But they keep other distractions at bay


My loneliness I forget on cheerful afternoons like this

While watching shadows

And when the wind attempts to take my clothes

Away from the clothesline

My clips keep them secured, but they do attempt

To tease my strength and my thoughtfulness


When there aren’t many reasons to get up

The birds are at my bedroom window,

Calling me out to see them at play,

It’s their way you know,

Of the sun, the wind and the birds

To give me company

It’s their way of telling me that I am not alone

It’s their unspoken language of love

That keeps me going

It’s the reason for old-age days

To wake up in the mornings.


Fallen leaves

Pulling up the blinds, my eyes fell on trees. Their leaves; golden yellow like sunflowers, flaming orange like marigolds, bright red like roses, deep maroon like certain withering flowers, and even green. They seemed to make haste. To fall. To break free from what held them together. To fly away, if possible. A deep sense of unrest lent heaviness to the autumn air. I stared longingly at the fallen leaves lying here and there, some in groups, some alone. And then, the sun, like an artist seemed deeply engrossed in filling up vast canvases of grass with its dynamic shafts of light, for a moment here and then suddenly there, a step ahead, and then, a furlong ahead, slowly but beautifully shifting its focus, taking me along.

What is it about them, the fallen leaves that makes me want to look at them again and again? And, when some of them glisten in the early morning sunshine, what is it that my heart longs for? 

It reminded me of home, to which I was bound in more ways than one, from where I yearned to fly away, afar. We had trees aplenty, leaves fell copiously, layer upon layer where I walked time and again. Beneath them I discovered life; throbbing with desire. 

The leaves are fallen, dead or so they said, but to me they were the receptacles of life; fresh and raring.

The leaves; I have always felt a connection with them. They link me to my roots, to my very being, to a simple life back home, to days when trees filled my life with more than just shade and fruits, with perspective, meaning, and depth.

The Red Berry

Tucked inside a dark crevice

In the roots of an old coconut tree,

Its bark; slippery and slimy,

Home for snails and moss colonies

Fallen leaves rot away

Some float in muddy puddles,

Skeletal remnants of a harsh summer

Wriggly worms, at least a dozen,

Some climb up the tree

Others rest on the compound wall

Some parallel, some perpendicular

Born in to the bosom of the prolific monsoon;

The worms; yellow and black

Stand out like wild blooms in a spring meadow

The compound wall; an eco-system in itself

Rain drops rest on a million moss heads,

Their crowns sparkle though the sun is in hiding

Lady bugs, a handful at least,

Move in and out of the moss patches

Earth worms, thin and many

Slither up in search of a better abode

Up above the thick thickets

Of a plush Loobikka tree

A bee; orange and black buzz around

Down below, a single berry; red and ripe

Catches my eye in earnest

“Pick me up, pick me up”,

Hushed whispers reach up to my ears

It has been a few days since,

The red berry now rests by my window pane

Reminding me of the big wonders in my small backyard

Brevity of seasons, of life

Whenever I step out for a walk, I am claimed by someone else. With each and every new walk that I take, this feeling only gets deeper. Like how last evening, I was possessed by the brevity of seasons. By the brevity of beauty in one form, but which nevertheless gets transformed in no time. Look at the trees outside. They are in an ambitious burst of green. They celebrate green like there are no tomorrows. The trees; at least the ones unaffected by strong winds and erosion make it a point to stand upright and salute the sun, everyday, irrespective of the measurable impact of sunshine, whether the rising sun tinges the sky crimson or not, or it leaves the crestfallen sky in bleeding hues as it bids farewell for the day. They don’t fret over the ever changing expressions of the sun or sky. Like, I wonder why yesterday the horizon looked very different from today, when the sun decided to come up the horizon. But, the trees don’t bother.

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Dear friends and readers, I am looking for

Fellow bloggers, I am looking forward to your valuable comments.

Whims and fancies

Dear friends and readers,

I am looking for honest feedback and critiquing here. Please read the below paragraph and tell me how many of you would like to/ would love to read something like this. Please comment on the language, the reactions it evoked in you, the descriptive style and if there is beauty in it. Do you think there is an audience out there who would enjoy an entire book in this style? I thank you in advance for your valuable comments!


A fat, solid, flowering vine stood right in front of the wall that separated the two washrooms. It had climbed onto the crimson tiles that lined the roof. The white and lavender blooms that seemed innumerable formed a heavy canopy on the roof and spotting them there the first time when they were in full bloom; Pearl wondered if under their weight, the roof would collapse…

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A leaf, a cocoon

My 8 year old inspired this one. While exploring the Green Apple tree seen from my Kitchen window, he looked at a dried leaf that was about to fall down, but still clinging to the brittle branch for dear life, and exclaimed ‘ ‘Amma, a dried leaf? oh no, a cocoon I guess.’ Thus began the train of thoughts. Tell me how do you like this.

Whims and fancies

dried leaf

Is it a last leaf clinging to the bleak branch?
A valiant warrior from agonizing yesterdays,
Distraught with the ruthless winter that just went by
Or, is it a cocoon dangling and dancing?
A dried up casing from the outside;
But a receptacle of life; throbbing and thriving

Is it going to fall for an early spring breeze?
And embrace the earth, to become one with it?
Or is it going to stay put till it’s time comes?
To metamorphose into a winged wonder
Is it a pale remnant of a cold past?
Or a resilient reminder of the promise of life

Is it a mistaken attempt to hold on?
Instead of graciously accepting the coming of time
Is it yet another marvel of creation?
An unraveling of the mystic of life?
Or, a mere hint that looks can be deceptive,                                                       That we must look beyond the obvious.

(image courtesy:

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