Die I must today This, the sculptor, does say, every day, Chisel and hammer, the shed, the stone Wait for him, whilst he lies lone.  Unfinished statue of Henry Miller Nearly done lies the limestonâ€...
Amongst the zillions of writings about youMy words are simple, small but trueI pour my heart out to theeMy city, my Jaan, my Dilli! I wonder where I shall beginTemples or bazaars, who will win?Food…...
What does my country mean to thee? If it’s not camels, carousels and cacophony What is India if not the hullabaloo Her identity lies in my pallu.  Canons, Nikons, Olympus’ go wild Bangles, sca…...
Bright red scarf and an orange hat Soft wrinkles, her lipstick’s red matte, Crunching the leaves under her bicycle wheel There she flies, without her veil.  That little wood bridge over the d…...
Amidst the barren, broken and yellow earthLies an arid dream, dirty white at birth,Somewhere in the crevices, covered by crustBlinking, hiding, fighting the dust.He has heard his father prayFor win…...
I did not miss India this summer. Delhi heat, dust-laden winds and dry grass made me believe I am not alien in this country. I thought this would be a short-lived experience. Days after days, in fa…...