The thin line between comedy and tragedy

Laughter and applause. What a crowd, what a night! But they won't let him leave without one last wisecrack. The jester sighs behind his painted smile. And fishes in his little bag of tragedies to craft one more joke for the night...

The element of surprise in love...

Bus 119

I was at Infy, Mysore in 2007. Just as the clock struck 5, hoards of happy Infoscions escaped the cubicles, via Food court 1 and boarded bus #119 on their way to freedom. 

This was the year Puneet Raj Kumar's "Ninninndale" was being played everywhere. I heard this song so many times on the bus, I actually began to like it. Even today, this song brings back to mind those days of travelling from Hebbal to Myna auntie's house via Bharat Cancer, Vijaynagar, Surya bakery, Fab mall...

Mahishasuramardini

The trouble with watching an awesome dance performance live is that one begins to feel very left out and ostracized by the end of it. I know!! Petty me! But to watch breathtaking choreography without being a part of it in anyway is my idea of a desperate personal hell.

And sometimes desperation is another name for inspiration. Hoohaahaaaaa...

Hide and seek

One by one they all fly away...

Stumbled upon an old album from my undergrad days when we were all together, in pursuit of specimenhood...

जयपुर से कन्नूर

Where are the old cities?

सीढ़ी, सड़कों, दीवारों से.
गलियों, कूचों, बाज़ारों से.
आँगन और चौखट और नुक्कड़,
चारास्तों से, चौबारों से.

मंदिर तक जाते रस्ते से,

जो घाट पे जा कर गिरता था.

गलियों को छेड़ के जो उनके,

आगे-पीछे को फिरता था.

उस छत से जिस की गोदी में,

सर्दी की धूप सो जाती थी.

जहाँ शाम ढले अनगिनत पतंगे,

उतर समर में आती थीं.

फिर पूछा रुक-रुक कर मैंने,

हाट की सब दूकानों से.

जहाँ सौदा करते आये थे,

कभी रुपये, कभी चार आनों से.

पर नहीं मिला, अब किसे याद,

अब कौन पता दे सकता है?

था शहर पुराना वैसे भी,

बिक गया, कबाड़ था, अच्छा है.