That which is she

As the moon waxed and waned,
She cut through steadily,
Tunneling wider and deeper,
As the one she bore watched idly.

In time she may reach
That warm place in his heart.
But is she still the same
The one that started?

A passion that cut across years,
They described hers.
Looking at the then and now,
But not knowing

That which is she
Is not her without him
or he without her


Upward and away


I saw a bird flying outside my window
Caught in a vortex between our buildings
Swaying gently to the right
And then soaring upward and away.

What it must be
To be a bird
To bend to nature
And still get its way.


If my mother is Maharashtrian,
my father is Bihari,
my mother is Muslim,
my father is Christian,
my office is in Mumbai,
my wife and kids are in Delhi,
my mother tongue is Hindi,
my fluency is in Marathi,
my mother is an SC/ST,
my father is casteless,
Can you tell me
which half must be circumsized,
which half must be baptized,
which half may live in this city without fear,
which half must return to penury,
which half must apply for reservation,
which half must resent the other half?
I have only one mind, one body, one soul,
tear me apart for I belong
to a hundred places, identities and castes.
Or let me live as an Indian.