Ode to the Pod

plugged in, he turns into one of those he till recently despised.
white wires protrude from shirt collar, leading out from the soul,
sucking it dry of all emotion.
He walks on, doesn’t look back
music on max, the world on mute,
He pretends he can’t hear her
homo habilis with opposable thumb, scrolling to the edge of the world.
Starts to whistle as he crosses the street
jaded, battle-weary faces,
Seems embarrassed to be there
unblinking eyes, staring into nothingness,
Oh think twice, it’s another day for
You and me in paradise
an alien on life support

In the Park

It's deceptively bright today. I had set out wearing just a light jacket; you'd think I would have known better. Still, the brightness makes up for the lack of feeling in my fingers. On other days the park has been sour and depressed, the tower slides looking like the ancient ruins of an older, more playful civilisation. A park is a disappointed playground, Joyce might have said. Today it looks a lot happier. I make my way past the swings and see-saws, shining yellow and red in the sun. Two children dangle from the monkey bars. Just beyond them a group of eager boys take turns trying to dunk a basketball. A frisbee hovers over the grass for a few moments before touching down.

On the lake, ducks clamour for the breadcrumbs that an old woman lobs at them. Sunshine glints off their beaks. A little girl squeals in delight, asks her mother whether she can have a go. I remember the ducks we used to have in the park near our home. One of them got slightly carried away on one occasion and had picked off, along with the slice of bread on offer, a sizeable chunk of a child's hand. They were all gone the next day, we never found out where.

scurrying to safety
two squirrels
I retreat, defeated

The shadows lengthen. In an hour the curtain will come down on another day. The old woman tosses the last of the crumbs into the lake, heads home while she still can. The streetlights come on, burning orange at first, like the setting sun. I dust my pants and watch it disappear. Overhead, a plane unzips the sky.

string of fairy lights
in a window
christmas hangover

Year of the Pig

And so it was that in all the celebration, in all the hubbub of noise and excitement, there were two figures who stood silent and still...

And though every single human in the stands or in the commentary boxes was at a complete loss for words, the man who in his life had uttered fewer words than any of them knew exactly what to say.

"That'll do, Pig.
That'll do."

Does anyone else really really like this film?

India- Tales from the Hinterland

Rustic transcript of speech by local Member of Parliament (c. 2004)
On a whistle-stop tour of the world’s largest democracy:

Namaste, bhaiyo aur behno[1]!

Please to be giving your vote to me,
I will be much obliged;
Roti, kapdaa aur makaan[2], tho-
I will personally provide.

Roads to your home will be best quality,
24 hours light will be there;
Excess of water for every person,
No need even to share.

Best schools for all the bachaas[3],
Medicine will be all free,
To all who be voting, I will give-
Fully new colour teevee.

I know I’m promising all this before,
But, really, erm…what to say?
See, five years seem long time to you,
In politiks, is like a day.

No fear; I be making your village,
Whole total duniya ki shaan[4];
So press down those thumbs, bhaiyo aur behno,
Mera Bharat Mahaan[5]!

Thanking You.


[1] Greetings, brothers and sisters! (a standard opening line)
[2] Food, clothing and shelter; three words with which many an Indian election is won and lost.
[3] children
[4] Pride of the whole world, a largely elusive concept
[5] My India is great!

Two hours to Kottayam

I stare out the window
as we cross the border.
Brown earth slowly turns to green.

I reach for my notebook;
This is what being ‘moved to poetry’ is like.

For so long she’s hoped for my return,
She’s waited patiently,
The wait’s over, and she’s preparing now-
To warmly welcome me.

Wind-blown and wide-eyed,
Sticking out like driftwood,
A tourist in the land of his birth.

But this is a land of a billion sons,
And each minute more are born,
How will she possibly welcome me back,
When she doesn’t know I’ve been gone?

I breathe in the smells,
Coffee, cocoa, a hint of pepper,
Boats float like dead fish on water.

Coconut palms line the tracks.
Beauty, too heavy to be contained,
Falls like invisible rain.

A child waves from beside the lake.
I wave back-
He grins and tells his brother.

A tiny leaf lands on my palm.
Fragile and so full of promise,
Like the land itself.

No, no red carpet awaits me,
I’m just a face in the teeming crowd;
But she will hear about me somehow,
And for a fleeting moment she’ll be proud.

I close my eyes.
It smells like home.