Tag: delhi (page 1 of 2)

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


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

Do the tube-roses remember my love?

There are things that should have happened between us. There are things that shouldn’t have.

There are truths that should have been told. There are lies that should have been upheld.

There are fake smiles that should have stayed put. There are genuine creases that should have become grooves.

There are fears that we should have told each other. There are strengths that we should have drawn resilience from.

There are moments of fortitude that should have made us proud.

Instead. They. Did. Not.

We. Ran. In. Different. Directions.

Glow-worms guided us.

Away from each other.

Where did we go wrong, he asked?

She has no clue, looks on.

In her universe, she is still the flower-girl as a young, strapping lad chases her around with a tube-rose garland at his brother’s wedding.

Oh, Maggi! 18 years – and what would I do without you?

I complete eighteen years in Delhi this June (a few of you on my FB timeline may have NOT even been conceived while I stared out of the window as the Poorva Express pulled out of the Howrah platform). But this is not about my 18 years in the National Capital. No, a single post can’t possibly suffice that.

This is about those 18 years and a pack of yellow curls called Maggi. A pack that like almost all other new-age things promises instant gratification. A pack that has needed minimal intervention of the human kind – yet had tremendous pull to rein in a raging tummy and keep all those (hunger) demons at bay.

Two hundred and sixteen months make eighteen years. And in those entire 18 years, I can safely say that not a single month has gone without me having consumed TWO packets of Maggi at least, if not more. By that simple calculation, while I do make for good brand endorsement without pocketing the moolah made by certain luminaries, I may have high lead content.

But who cared about lead content when hunger was a more pressing issue? When Mc Donald’s was still to Indianise its menu and prices and a Rs 30 burger was not what a college-going girl could afford. Lead was the last thing on my mind when I came home to a Girls’- only PG in tony Defence Colony. It was run by a retired Defence officer’s wife, who herself had no qualms about serving us hungry girls 2-week-old stale cooked kofta that possibly caused me more harm than ever any pack of Maggi did. Till date, I can’t look at kofta without feeling nauseated. With a 9:00 p.m. Curfew and a non-functional kitchen at our disposal, Maggi was the only thing that rescued us from homesickness and fatigue.

But it was not stale kofta alone that brought me closer to those curly things that gave such succour. Hostel life and hostel food brings out the stoic in all of us, usually! At the Indian Institute of Mass Communication, things were no different during that nine-month stay. Many an unpalatable dinner – comprising watery dal and half-cooked paneer – was doused with a midnight snack of Maggi and chips. Lead? Junk? Calories? Really?


It’s been more than a decade now that I have been working. Odd hours, shifts, erratic schedules, work emergencies, travel – I have done it all. For the past eight years, I have also had a cook who has ensured that karela-Papeeda ( and I love both!) are my regular fare while Maggi remains for the not-so-sunny-day when she decides to call in sick.

But Maggi still is a part of the larder. Which is what explains my minute-long silence – coupled with bewilderment – as I looked at the seven packets of Maggi that have been lying in the cupboard.

If I know me too well I know that I won’t give up on something that has seen me through my worst and helped me to my best.

Maybe you shouldn’t too.


Copyright © 2017 Cyclopsee

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑