Thursday, August 18, 2016


I nurtured the baby.
watched his two lips suckling my nipples,
A tenderness envelopes me,
Is this motherhood?
I watch the toddler walking,
holding on to my finger for support.
Feelings surge through me,
Is this motherhood?
I watch a twelve year old walk into the house,
flinging his arms around me
feelings course my veins,
Is this motherhood?
I watch a handsome young man walking out,
leaving home in search of greener pastures
tears fall from my eyes,
Is this motherhood?
Tell me my dears,
what is motherhood?
Is it the emotions running through my veins ?
Or the toddler turning into a grown-up man,
No longer needing his mother

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Lambasting Poets

Recently, I read a blog post where the writer had lambasted poets and their ilk, by saying that they are fake. Their emotions are fake, as according to the writer they genuinely do not feel for a cause they just feel so that they can produce a fine work and win accolades.
Harsh criticism indeed! I'm sure the writer has come across such fake people who genuinely do not feel for any cause. But most of us whether we adopt the poetic mode or use words to express our feelings genuinely feel for a cause.
For example, yesterday I wrote a poem about the poor in Mumbai, I feel for the cause. The sight of the poor suffering distresses me, and I want to do something for their cause but I'm helpless.
The writer also accused the poets of experiencing the deep emotion of love in a fake manner. The writer said that the poet simply falls in love to create a work of art and once it is created falls out of love. I beg to differ. I feel it is the human lot to fall in and out of love and I'm sure the poet undergoes deep agony that moves him/her to create the work of art.
While each  one of us is entitled to their opinion I feel lambasting poets or writers is unfair as the agony of love makes poets and writers of us all and not the fact that to produce a work of art we fall in love.
Falling in love is natural and unrequited love makes us go through deep agony which might have outpourings in the form of a poem.
I hope my critic friend reads my post and changes their opinion about the harsh criticism inflicted on the lot of the poets. Trust me dear friends Keats went through the agony of consumption and also died at a tender age. His unrequited love is expressed in his beautiful poems.
So think through your criticism and don't judge all poets by a harsh pen.

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

The city of Mumbai

Lost in my reverie I walk on the road
Shaking my head at the bystander reaching out to me to ask for some money
my reverie is shaken as my thoughts shift from my job to the poor condition of the beggar
Thoughts rush to my head whether the mangled condition of the beggar was caused by an accident or the notorious beggar mafia had cut off his hands and legs.
I shudder at the thought
I wonder whether to drop a coin in his bowl or to move on unaffected
This is a daily sight for me as I traverse through the length and breadth of this city called Mumbai
I wonder at the ruthlessness of the beggar mafia.
With these thoughts I move on to watch many such ugly sights
I wonder at the disparity that this city offers.
The poorest of the poor and the richest of the rich live across the road from each other
Why this disparity?
Why this suffering in this city that offers opportunity to all.
With these thoughts in my head I walk on again lost in my reverie
but this time of a different kind