This poem was inspired by Pablo Picasso’s painting – the blue room   They say that life has many tones and hues But in my life what dominate are the blues I am caught in a swirling vortex of strife And that my dear is the defining fact of my …

Under the gnarled boughs of the aging banyan In the courtyard, Beneath the canopy of the jade leaves fluttering To gentle breezes, Grandma would sit, with her books strewn around. Welcoming with a smile, arm outstretched in greeting She would beckon. Eagerly we would cluster around, on our haunches On …

An unassuming, easy going lad, Sunny soon made friends, the dearest being Monty (or Mohinder) who lived a few Kothi’s down, in the lane. As different as chalk and cheese, the boys soon became bosom pals. While Sunny was shy and timid by nature, prim and proper in his British manner; Monty was mischievous, inquisitive and always keen to explore. A die hard Hardy Boys fan, Monty introduced Sunny to the world of mystery books and both boys spent many happy afternoons butting heads over mystery stories.

In between the spaces of dream and reality, I found you Like an alluring enigma, you shimmered in the Half light. I knew then, I was in love with only an illusion But it was enough.   Image – Yohann Lc via unsplash  

  She was the mellow glow of dawn, He was the brooding moods of dusk. She was the sparge of summer rain, He was the cloak of the dark night. She was the fragrant rose in spring, He was the chill of the winter snow. Together they were day and …

The brooding blues of your days And the bleeding red’s of mine Hold us at bay, as sightless we Navigate these treacherous lanes Of our hearts, beating in tandem.   In this pantomime we call our life We waltz together, enshrouded By the deep shadows of our past Fearful that …

Your father rushes in with video recorder in hand, “Hey baby, hey sweetie...smile...smile for daddy. Yes, that’s right...oooh, yessss...like that.”

 This story was first published on Artoonsinn and was written to the following prompt. It was the most read entry for the event and secured my team the 1st place.  A modern day Robin Hood’s conscience comes to life (literally) and demands him/her to offload karma to the beneficiaries to …

He was the oldest man in the village. Hunched over on rheumatic bones, slightly deaf in an ear and leaning heavily on his wooden stick, he patrolled the village at nights. Most nights the village folk could hear the tap-tap of his cane as he ambled through.

In the early evening, we were still a distance from the Indian border when I felt the train jolt and grind to a halt. Cries of ‘Pakistan Zindabad’ rent the air and our bogie, second from the engine, was beset by a mob of men wielding knives, swords, and sickles. Cringing at the maniacal hatred I saw in their eyes, I looked at Biji. Her face had grown ashen. I saw a silent look pass between her and Bauji. Then she turned to me, kissed my forehead and indicated at the sachet. I consumed it immediately.