Entitled gaze

The bus comes to a screeching halt,
I look at my watch,
And then outside.

My eyes meet his gaze.
I don’t know who he is.
Or from where.
But I feel scared.

My Rational mind tells me,
You are inside a bus,
Glass is shatter-proof,
He can’t harm you.

His gaze still makes me fidget.
I feel like I’m encouraging his malice
By returning his gaze.
I should not be party to this.

I really want to rebel,
But fear takes over,
Add I look elsewhere,
At my startled reflection.

The bus starts moving again,

Whispering ‘entitlement’.

Women in Progress

A little conscious,
As we dress differently,
The effect of conditioning.
Then we remind ourselves that it is our right.
We are a work in progress.

Muttering some gossip,
Still some crayons in our hands,
Awkwardly serious,
About social issues.
Coming on,
A little too strong.

Sure, there’s a long way to go.
A test to pass.
I don’t know everything inside out. All the theories and arguments.
But in the cause I believe.
A work in progress.

Shame and honour

To have depression,

What a shame!

To kill in the name of caste,

What an honour!

To be poor,

What a shame!

To be in debt paying dowry,

What an honour!

To spend on her education,

What a shame!

A wedding worth lakhs,

What an honour!

To help your wife out,

What a shame!

To ‘discipline’ her,

What an honour!

Middle Eastern woman wearing face covering

To marry in a different religion,

What a shame!

To plunder another religion,

What an honour!

To be childless,

What a shame,

Child marriage,

What an honour!

To donate organs,


What a shame!

To go up whole,


What an honour!

Tough times ahead.

A wet pillow, a heavy head,

twists and turns, on the bed,

staring at the ceiling,

trying to find a link,

How to evade the sorrow?

How to ‘look forward’ to tomorrow?


The future is certain,

and not necessarily advantageous,

would I have the strength,

to face the coming years?


The question looms in front of me,

And I could have used

the comfort of a friend,

But turns out that when you really need someone

you’re all alone, the broken glass is yours to mend.

Burying The Butterflies

Silver-spotted Skipper, Epargyreus clarus

Silver-spotted Skipper, Epargyreus clarus (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The smoke that accompanies out celebration

Is not without just fire, but crackers,

Up in the sky for a few shimmering seconds,

We thicken the air around us for days.


We can shut our windows,

To the toxicity,

But where will the creatures

Of the open meadows go?


Helplessly attracted to the light,

They try to, and get inside,

Moths and butterflies,

In large numbers, with less number of choices.


Sitting on my swing,

Or books, or easel, or bed,

They are everywhere,

Like a second coat of paint.


But die they will,

And pretty soon,

And we drove them to it,

Shortened their life to half,

In the name of God.


In the morning when I get up,

My floor covered with these

Fallen angels,

With a great sigh and resolve,

I arrange for a mass funeral.



This is a poem on the students of engineering in India, based on people I happen to know. It has the good and the bad, so truth it is. You may take to heart whatever you wish to 🙂


They seem to be working hard,

but on all the wrong things,

Adorable nerds in real life,

But social networking kings.


There are those shallow ones too,

dissing those from other streams,

only because they are jealous,

of not having followed their dreams.


Attractive people in engg are rare,

they say,

Life to them is unfair,

they say.


University/hostel has,

made a jail of existence,

yet they choose,

the path of least resistance.


‘Cuz, honestly speaking,

they haven’t much choice,

Their careers will be lost in the din,

if they make much noise.


So they drag along,

cursing one another as they go by,

it’s all in good spirit of course,

As each pretends to be a tough guy.


But this ‘shitty’ life,

as they say,

Is what makes

them witty,

And fun to be

around with.


So unless engg,

becomes less sucky,

You all will,

remain unlucky,

And entertain all of us

through each bit of it.