Category: Just musing……


It is true that,

She is her own messiah….

That she has purged her own self,

Of plagues and despair

That threatend to take her breath away…..


It is true that,

She is her own divinity.

That she has uplifted her soul

When all belief and love

Was challenged and abused every day…..


It is true that

She is her own messiah,

And has taken the highest wave….

That most men were scared

To ride upon lest they should sway…..


It is true that

She is her own Sun,

Who has, with deliberate ease,

Hovered  through the darkest dungeon,

Dazzling it with a blinding ray…….


It is true that

She is her own reason,

To smile, love and be merry,

And has learnt it hard…..

That nothing can forever stay…..



He told her to fly…….



He has asked her to fly,

To scale heights, climb aloft……

The strings he once held

Are left loose for her to drop……


Her feet are frozen,

As if held in tethers.

They feel heavy;

She crawls……

wishing she had feathers.


Wild, wild dreams,

That plagued her heart

Where are they?

“For God’s sake,

Someone help me…..”

She cries out, like a prey.


Tears roll down,

Her face buried in dust……

She has to walk faster,

It will be now or never……


She thinks of her lovely cascade;

Her eyes so blue,

Dark, dark skin that gleams like diamonds,

And of what she could pursue…..


Here, in this clearing,

She is blessed to have been abandoned

Without camouflage……..

She can be herself,

Ugly, unattended, unflattered……..


She may run without grace,

And blurt out secrets;

Her bosom has wrapped…….



She may not wait for him,

With candles and curls,

And approvals or slimy words…..


This desert is her arena,

She will blossom without rain…..

She will leave behind grudges,

And all disdain…….


She need not worship any hero……

She has one within,

Just how far she can venture,

Is all she is wondering……..

From here……

From here, whence?

After all the waves have lashed

And crashed within…..

From here, whence?……..


The surreal highways,

Divine interventions…..

Unexpected doorways,

Songs and trepidations……


From here, whence?

When the storm that raged,

Loud and clear…..

Subsided in the shade.


Undaunted arms,

Flung open and wide…..

Hoping to embrace,

Every single tide……


From here, thence……..

Where yesteryear’s ash

Doesn’t threaten to set ablaze…..

And elements within,

Guard this maze…..


So, from here, thence,

Where I flower

My path with serenity

And I find my own divinity………





Recipe for the soul……

Apologies at the start…….if this gets too cumbersome to read. I have, for long now, been wanting to pen down words that have been dripping, dancing and wreaking havoc in my mind. The cold has weaned, pleasant breeze that gently taps at the window, prompts me to procure from the recesses of my mind the words that have been restless, very restless of late.


I am not a great cook, but take a lot of pleasure and pride in cooking. Having been restricted of late due to “an” accident I had( I call it “an” because I try not to make a big deal out of it, and I’m recovering satisfactorily well), I haven’t been able to prepare any dishes in my safe haven(my kitchen). I really feel safe here, from the world, cocooned in spicy aromas, morning cling clangs of dishes and also the morning mess!!


So here it is, I prepare my little one’s favourite delicacy, the very sought after butter chicken in the family. The “man”asks me if I could use a little help from him, which I blatantly deny. Blatantly because I feel powerful, I can swing my hand a little and I love the smile that resides in the corner of his lips when I say a powerful “no”.


To begin with, I marinate the chicken with lemon juice, salt, red chilli powder, wait for another fifteen minutes and add yogurt, oil, kasuri methi and garam masala. I set it aside for about 45 minutes and in the meanwhile prepare the tomato puree in the blender.

I hear the “man” telling the little one to go out and play with her friends, but she says she is waiting for the chicken to be served,  he tells it’s going to be a long time, she still wants to be at home till it is done, he shakes his head in discontent, looks at me and I know the words in his mind….”She is just like you…….”. And I secretly smile…….I love these voices around…….


So, back to the recipe, I heat some butter, very little, in a pan, and fry the marinated chicken. Lots of moisture begins to ooze out.

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Hmmmm……I love when the garlic  and ginger aroma wafts out. I flip flop and cook on high till my chicken turns golden brown.

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Okay, there it is, almost done. I remove this and keep it aside. Another vessel, I heat butter, add cloves, cinnamon, cardamom and green chillies and sauté for a minute or two.

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My left hand is still not stable and see what I have done!!!!!!!

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I have dropped the cloves on the floor, but I cannot be that swift to sweep it all up. So I leave it at that and continue with the tomato puree whilst I stand on my toes taking care not to step on them. Okay so here goes the puree…….

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I add red chilli powder and salt and cook on high till it begins to leave the sides. Then I pour in one cup of water, methi powder and almond paste……

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It boils and simmers for a while. Then I add kasuri methi and garam masala while it boils.

Now, I add the chicken and let it simmer again for a while. I check the pieces with a fork, they are done, so I check the salt and spice.

I guess the aroma is too strong, the “man” has resigned from his laptop and is sauntering towards the kitchen for the customary ”tasting”. So I hurriedly empty the dish to be served. I never preferred them licking from the pan. Here…….

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It still needs garnishing with cream and coriander, but they cannot wait……… be it.


Phew!!!! I am wondering just how effortlessly we do minion tasks in a day without even a second thought at which muscle is in work and which ligament supports what.

To lift the above dish and to place it on the dining table is an almost herculean effort for me at present but I do manage with my “man” walking behind me and grumbling over the “Adventure” I have undertaken. I ask the “very sullen” him if he really wants to help, he can sweep up the cloves. This he does quickly, he is hungry……

I am on the lounger, again voices, one instructs the other to place the mats, get the bowls, the salad, the very green chutney………

And now we are gathered around again, like before, in my safe haven…….



Questions on my plate…


This have I fathomed,

After measuring out spoonfuls of life,

That every paradigm shift,

Every little strife-

-Puts up shameless questions…..

That hollow-eyed stare

As if to gobble up the night…..


When wonders cease to be

And they become obsolete,

When the light at dusk,

Sighs downward in rejection…….

When every singing flower,

Fails to have an audience;

When the river flows on and on,

Meandering aimlessly;

When unanswered questions,

Like left-overs in the plate,

Scared to confront…..

Lay hidden in the dark.


This have I fathomed,

That questions do not carry answers;

They are clouds

On a dark, dark sky……

That descend upon me,

When thunder has struck a blow……

They thaw and run down,

Wash away all creases…..


Till new seeds I sow.


Her Quest……

Soulful rythms,

When the path broke up ahead

She said she knew the way……

How it bent, where it led…..


Hums and drones,

When she steps upon one,

She says she has the light……

If there is no Sun.


Whispers grow loud,

When she starts to run,

She would not look at them,

Till she is done.


Deafening silence,

This abyss is rare……

And oh! It is a tunnel;

But it will end somewhere.


Lazy yawns,

All seems at rest……

She struggles to barely walk

Is this all about her quest?


Blaring trumpets,

She knew this path well enough,

A few more runs,

And it wouldn’t be so tough.



Lone traveller…..



Blissful and enchanted,

Taking long strides.

Longing for winds

That help him discover…..

Gleeful and buoyant,

Is the lone traveller.



He has seen turbulent skies,

Angry winds,

That offered retreat….

He has seen adversities

When every moment he did suffer,

Yet he now owns the sky,

This lone traveller.


He has loved and fed,

With unbridled passion,

He has not held in chains

Any tear, any laughter;

No extremes could hold him back,

He has loved fiercely,

This lone traveller.


He is the showman,

His own spectator;

He watches his steps

And lives witin his means…..

Prodigal heart, extravagant wonderer,

He works his charm with just a smile,

This lone traveller.