Homecoming

My boy doesn't seem
To walk on the ground
These days.
He likes to levitate.

Shit-talking about random
Girls has stopped.

Looks at earrings in
Thrift shops than
Window-shopping
Second-hand bikes.

He doesn't stone the
Mating dogs these days.
Talks about the nostalgia
Of Kishore Kumar songs.

Oils his hair and wears
Better bright shirts and
Wonders why his shit
Stinks after he shits.

My boy has become a
'Bwoy' it seems.

The other day he cleaned
His own puke and swore
Upon his mom to give up
Drinking.

He was a good goddamn
Cement-Wall with shards of
Glass to insulate himself
With feminine curses.

But somehow a witch has
Gotten to him bad, like
Periwinkles leaving cracks.

We're taking counter
Measures though..

Confident, his sailed ship's
Gonna capsize in about
Six months. Or maybe less.

We're getting ready on the
Otherside to relish a
Drunk night full of his rants
About her betrayal.

We know he's gonna sing
English songs after the 4th peg.
His homecoming has to
Happen with an orchestra.

So we're busy tuning our
Instruments now.

Fart to Spirituality

Big entrance exam day,
Four puris in the morning
Fall heavy on your stomach.
The stomach growls.

What seemed like a harmless
Fart, seems to tease with
A Serendipitous act.
Your denial earlier grows

Thin and you gotta search
For a toilet. But the
College premises didn't
Bother to build any.

You gotta walk searching
For one. But the only hope
You got is Two kilometres away
In the bus stand.

And you walk and walk
Clenching your
Embarrassment in the ass
That wants to cry.

A five-rupee coin in hand
To pay for the toilet and
An old woman on the way
Asks you for alms.

You don't know what to
Do with the idea that
Flutters in your mind but
You gotta prioritize other
Important things in hand.

There's no gratitude
Bigger in life than your legs
Getting you a toilet in time.
And you're thankful-

The relief with which you
Return. You pay that
Old-woman purposefully.
That day you were more

Closer to God that
Anytime ever in life.

Narcissism

Sleeping with myself to 

Test my narcissism.

Guess I got an erection.

I saw my face and 

The bare-ugly-chest.

Drooled all over to 

Quench my fetish.

I was my own king

And my own queen.

Orgasm after orgasm 

After the self-admiration.

Finding no one better 

Than the two of me-

The goldy manifestation 

I am, and the others,

High on the voyeurism of

My pious sins-

Should try me. Try us. 

We can gaslight you

At will and feed you to

Your own guilt, so that 

You can come in praise 

Of my wit later on.

Till then, lemme 

Sharpen my tongue for 

My next attack.

War against Cancer

Me and cousin urinated

In the empty bottles,

Stashed by my grandfather.

Hampering his intentions

Of selling them to buy

Himself packs of Beedi.

Guess who were the

Earliest fighters of cancers

By weaponizing weenies.

Maybe we should take up

The task again to raise

Funds for a campaign to

Piss on the balance sheets

Of cigarette companies.

"Cocks against cigars"-

Such a metaphor for 

What kills and what can 

Give birth.

What can ooze out life

And what sucks it in.

Carrot Halwa

I hope you say my name

In your sleep. 

I hope your kid asks you 

Repeatedly about the one 

You seek in your dreams.

I hope you've fumbled 

Everytime they all wanted an 

Explanation and I hope

You had decided to never 

Talk about the past.

But not today.

Not on on this gloom ladden 

Sunday of late December.

But how are you gonna 

Say it aloud? 

How are you gonna scream 

An ex lover's name in

Everyone's presence?

So you decide to prepare 

Halwa with carrots from 

Backwaters of Kerala,

The one you had prepared me

When we had first met.

Everyone enjoys it to 

The last bit. 

Your in-laws say it's the best 

They've tasted.

That's the closure everyone 

In the family wanted..

That's what you thought.

But your kid still goes on 

Aking about me and you never 

Realise when he started 

Referring to me as papa.

And what shocks you more

Is why the hell is he referring

To your husband as mama.

Two Chairs

At the end of the world,

Against a fiery sky that's

Dying. There are two 

Plastic chairs.

I'm sitting on one,

Waiting for you with a

Cold beer.

At the beginning of 

The world. Against rebirth 

Of a new sky- there are

Same two chairs.

Still waiting for you,

The beer is cold still.

And the epochs pass by-

Ice-ages -advent of warmth-

The civilizations and now-

The same chairs against a

Murky sky and skyscrapers.

But you come this time.

Where were you? Doing what? 

Having flings? Kissing hoes?

Tasting betrayals? 

The beer just turned warm 

And the moment is gone.

Saying BFFs for life-

The way you've come now.

The sheer audacity.

Where are the snacks?

Recluse

A Japanese company claims 

It can disappear you. 

Like the woosh of the wind-

Erasing traces from existence.

I'm thinking of erasing me to

Relocate myself elsewhere.

Somewhere low-key, where 

People grow just rice and 

Vegetables for a living and die 

Without fighting the nature when it 

Embraces them with a wound or 

A disease. And maybe when I 

Spend twenty years like that-

Weary enough of the wildness.

Craving for Dosa and Biryani

Getting out of hand-

I would write you a letter,

As I wouldn't have access to

A cell phone or your number. 

It would be scripted in English

But the language would be a

Local tribal slang.

And when you read it out loud,

As per the instructions.

Those fancy-sounding words

Would always mean-

"Fuck you in the ass with a 

Poisoned dart". As you were

The reason I'd to go recluse.

Beyond Reason

Let us hide in the gaps

Of languages. Where our 

Emotions are untouched and 

Undefined.

Life beyond four letters,

Livelihood beyond 

The day-to-day stutter.

If there's a word for a

Yearning for a non-existent 

Home, let's skip it.

And for the smell of rain

After touching scorched soil.

Let's forget it.

There must be some language 

Of the world where,

They might not have confined 

The meaning of love yet.

A longing that isn't limited 

To mortal sensibilities.

Let's outgrow what we can

Speak and read and touch.

Let's outgrow what we can

Feel and express. 

They say, beyond the shackles 

Of logic and reasoning,

There's a marijuana field. 

I'll roll for you, you roll for me. 

We'll smoke up the earth to 

Call it an apocalypse.

Participation Time

You're an incarnation of 

A star that died.

Maybe I'm a misfired bullet 

In an astronomical war.

Perhaps everyone here

Is cosmic-apocalyptic-dust 

Forced with life.

Trees culture us to feed 

Themselves carbon dioxide.

They're CCTVs deployed to 

Monitor us. Mitochondria-

Connected to a giant dictator's 

Mind. Earth sure is a lab.

You and me are 

Test subjects, for an evaluation 

Of side effects of love 

That's wild. 

Come on love..

It's participation time.

Why the Midlife Crisis?

The first time your friends
Mock the bulge of your belly,
You say you ate more.

The next time you find out
A couple of extra KGs,
You land the blame on
The high density of bones.

The denial goes on for a
Few years while the shirt
Size changes and the waist
Goes beyond thirty-two.

Acceptance knocks on
Your door after a while and
You open it- you gotta, after

Your hand made countless
Slides down the curves of
This parabolic paunch that's
In making.

And when you sit down now-
The folds of this adipose,
Tightening around the waist
To make its presence felt-

You laugh it off, imagining
This fat insulation coming
In the line of sight while peeing
And you can no longer

See your weenie.
That's a legit catharsis of
Every man in his 40s and
You ask why the midlife crisis?

Meaningless and loud

I like things that are
Meaningless and loud.
Enough imagination
And totally dumb.

A mountain that's ready
To cry. A volcano afraid
Of Butterflies. Petals bearing
The weight of the skies.

I wanting to be you.
You, wanting to be me.
To be parallel lines
Tending to meet at infinity.

Philosophies not afraid
Of math. Spirituality that's
As secure as science.
A villain deriving power

By square root of minus
Nine and a hero defeating
Him by dividing himself
By zero thrice.

Math books felt abused
By listening to this and
The History professor
Turned Pookie to snatch

'The Great' from Alexander,
He's a they/them, now.

Hakuna Matata

The young Bangalorean smiles.
Hakuna Matata she says and
Smiles. Twists that nose,
Curves her lips and I know,

Something funny is on the way.
Hanuna your tatas she says.
Laughs, laughs, and laughs.
I laugh, you laugh, the world laughs.

My adult awareness hits me.
I get awkward to have laughed
So much. It's okay captain!
She says.

Ta-ta-ta, tomata, batata,
She says and laughs.
I laugh, and the world laughs.
Then it Rains-- Bangalore, right?

Hakuna your gotas I say,
She laughs and dances.
What the hell I say to myself,
Before I too dance like mad.

A streak of lightening and
Then thunder. The dark skies,
Slashed with a Rainbow-
A laughable life this.

Colors yet to be defined.

Recommending Songs

The songs I tell you about.
How the lyrics go, how the bass
Feels against a changing weather.

How the particular tone of it has
Soaked in a memory of mine
To become a fragrance.

I can smell it now. 'Rehai' playing
Against the soothe of her face,
Trying to absolve me from a
Confined place..

My soul comes out of the body
To stand on a table to guide me
Through a cosmic dance.

Then it screams about
My performance,
To an invisible audience.

And when I recommend you
That song and you can't talk about
It with the same euphoria..

I'd point you to my best friend to
Convey, how he'd exactly react.
I know you may call us gay,
But that's all right.

I just hope, you really listen to it
One more time. We need a
Third wheel you see and that's

The only screening we felt apt.

Science Guy

Your grandpa claimed to have
Seen ghosts when he spent
The night in the farm.

Your uncle claims the same.
And your father asserts it
With one of his encounters
In a Himalayan jungle.

Hallucinations, too much
Alcohol and schizophrenia.
You come up with an explanation,
As you're a science guy.

But the voices in your room,
Still persist. How do you
Explain that?

A guy in Reddit claims,
Carbon Monoxide can cause
Delusional manifestations.

You buy a meter to measure
Monoxide levels. In that part
Of the corner, where the
Levels are high...

'Hola Grandson,
Fuck your science' says a
A shadow cast on the wall.

You get hold of the Hanuman
Statue in angst, that you
Had as a backup.

Usual Day

Half of me loves the other half,
But the other doesn't even bother
To shake my extended hand.

This one-sided affair that hangs
In air and fights for the divide
In my breath.

Introspection is a war waged
On chaos of my brain,
The clarity I've now is a stink of  

A gutter after good rains.

The inevitability of the stench
Being dealt with the left hand on
My nose-

A usual day is my confused state,
Of sunshine and shade.
It's a lazy refuge, where..

I overthink about having coffee
With milk or just the black.
Only to end up having chai.

Unshaved Tonsure

Joined the Army at seventeen,
Salaried young bloke, High on
Confidence and hormones.

Married her briefly, and
You impregnated her readily.

The night of the early nineties,
Drunk cycling in cantonment,
Your pregnant lady on pillion-

You skid and fall, nothing serious,
But your Son has a misshaped,
Wobbly head later on.

To hide his geoid full of
Mountains and valleys-

Adamant to trim the foliage,
Maintains a profuse hairstyle
To preserve himself of shame.

You keep respawning in your 

Deathbed after every major incident,
Lord Yama asks what's the secret,

You look at your son's head and
The hustler Lord, to meet his
Monthly targets.

He has been training himself
To be a barber first, while you lie
Farting again on a hospital bed.

Greener Grass

You descend down the stairs
Looking at the unpaid electricity bill.
Slip off the last step and your
Thigh lands hard on the edge.

It's swollen now. It wouldn't have
Mattered five years ago..but..

The soul that leaves the body
For a while in each fall..
Seems, it hesitates to return to
Your dilapidated bones now.

The age that's hailing down, even on
Your mind- What if the astral self,
Decides not to return to the hut when
It takes a nice little walk in the night?

Lured by the empty castle of a
Bodybuilder, who died yesterday,
Writing poems, the next day in the gym.
It's leg day says the instructor-

"Calves on fire, frozen knee, sweaty feet,
Welcome to this ambulatory demise,
A funeral hosted in my thighs" recited
Instead of a hundred squats.

Traps

A rat gets spotted in the room,
And five of you virgins get a
Purpose for the evening.

You close doors, seal burrows,
Guard corners with sticks,
Brooms and shoes.
Then you chase it for hours.

Someone brings up a gunny bag,
To increase the surface area
Of the trap and you nab it down
And click a selfie with it.

The nerd among the lot couldn't
Shut the fuck up, says- what if in our
Next lives, rats surround us to
Hunt us down, like we did?

All of you sit in contemplation,
To find ways to shut the loop
That you'd just left open.
The same way-

The rats above you did, after
Enslaving you all in a lab for
Human trials.

Shitty Faces

They take us to an old age home
As a part of the college curriculum.
Some girls sing and make them play
Merry games. Tell them how great
They're and blah blah blah.

They must see plenty of jokers
Like us who visit them daily to
Feel good about oneself.
Maybe the oldies all gather up in
The evening to rate our shitty faces.

The best one is kept in mind
For manifestation when they're
Constipated the next morning.

Two stars

The night that you were born,
'Two stars died'. Your grandpa said
That repeatedly over the years.

The counterfactuals you learn
As you grow old.
The twinkling phenomenon,
The nebula, supernova and
The light-year distance.

On the day of his demise,
You approach his stout body
While women sat around crying.
You touch his feet for one
Last time to pay homage.

And whisper in the ears,
"Guess two stars are born tonight".
It seemed like his lips realigned
Into a crooked smile in approval.

And the stars far away in the
Distance said WTF in their language
And farted together in a fury,
Which lasted longer than
Human history.