The Winds Have A Mind Of Their Own

The winds are howling
The Stars have hurried home, scared.
Tonight doesn’t seem like
They can do their own thing.

The night is wild,
The calm is gone.
Life has not much choice
At its face stares Chaos.

The moon peeps, takes a look.
Then the clouds shroud it,
in a pale veneer of love
And the winds kiss it.


L.G. May 2016

‘Tis a Summer of Hope & Longing

Spring is long gone. Summer is (almost) here.

The ceiling fan creaks.

The heat is oppressive.

The AC has its mood swings, like it does every year.

It’s passive-aggressive.

Like pretty much every other thing in my life.

But this summer, I know better.

I won’t crib. No. I won’t

I have made peace.

I will look inside.

I will be a shrink’s delight.

I will embrace poetry.

I will recite Neruda in my head.

I will recall Frida K’s lovers in sequence.

I will think of Liz Taylor and her husbands, not in a row.

I will think of the random, and the real.


April 13, 2016

Power Woman!

Yesterday was Women’s Day!

And I find a mention in this list , probably the only one I will ever share with Indra Nooyi and Kiran Bedi!)

I still don’t know how I made it, though!



The things I see.

A regular day.

On my way back from work.

And this I saw.

What’s happening to us?

On the DND. When the labour-class is going home.

A Maruti Ritz in the adjoining lane. We have been matching our steps…

Posted by Lopamudra Ghatak on Friday, 12 February 2016

Don’t look at your phone, he said!

What is happening to us, he asked.

What is? She paused.

We don’t get lost any more when we go out.

No, we consult. We save time, she quipped.

Yes, we save time. We shred romance by looking at GPS.

Ah, stop being so old-world.

She was ready for a spoil.

Not old-world. Just naive.

They looked at each other.

It had just turned 8. The lights at the restaurant has dimmed.

Can you keep your phone away for this evening? His tone was almost pleading.

Can you, she countered?

Yes, I can and I have. He put his hands up in the air.

He looked at her entreatingly, his fists clenched, almost.

Do it, please.
Do any thing but look at your phone.
Look at me.
Better still, look at the waiter who looks like Randeep Hooda.
Roll your eyes at the maitre’d.
Play with your curls and your silver pendant.
Go, flirt with the 50-year-old playing the piano.
Crib about the food so much that the rotund Chef himself is forced to appear.
Close your eyes when you eat the dessert – so that sweet dreams are really sweet.
Play footsie with me.

Whatever you do, don’t look at your phone.

Not today.

While you are with me.

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