Teeth

White teeth.

Glowing pearly white teeth.

Not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Saved from inner-lip lacerations, able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Corrected crooked misalignments, saved from inner-lip lacerations, able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Artificially-altered smile, corrected crooked misalignments, saved from inner-lip lacerations, able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Antarctica

Last summer I went to Antarctica.

It was covered in ice.

White ice

Cold white ice

Cold melting white ice

Global warming was taking over.

He was blowtorching the polar ice caps.

At Antarctica, I saw pink penguins.

It was warm so they’d taken off their feathery jackets.

They were nude penguins.

Nude and pink like people who’d just sunbathed.

Penguins are cooler black and white.

The Thing

A poem from last year

Nightmare. It’s only a nightmare.

The-there’s a thing.

An odious object sitting at the foot of my bed.

An article so astronomical I can’t see behind it.

The terrifying tool sits still, while I lie quaking under the covers.

Immobile, the item seems innocuous enough.

But could I trust it?

The artefact had appeared quite abruptly, and I definitely hadn’t put it there.

Did you?

Did you dump this dubious device on my duvet?

Is it a gift?

Is this great gadget a glorious gift?

Now this is interesting.

What is this curious commodity so covered in cotton cloth?

This extremely endearing entity that draws me closer as I crawl across to the contrivance.

I opened it to find a glossy glass gizmo.

With polished planes and cool curves,

The instrument has intricacies etched on every exterior.

The insides of the implement were equally elaborate with

Serpentine strokes scratched on the surface.

This breath-taking body, manufactured of manual muscle work, how could I ever use this utensil?

I can’t.

It’s too phenomenal a form to be flawed.

This piece of work, perfect from every perspective, I plan to preserve perpetually.

So storing the stupendous stuff, I go back to sleep.

I wake to warm water, sprinkled on my idle eyes.

Fragmented figures flash from the previous night.

Dashing to the drawer I find that forged form was a

REFRIGERATOR?!

In a Pot of Bubbling Sauce - The Result of a Quick Poetic Exercise

He had been prowling the streets
The usual routine
Checking for spies
Or even traitors
But the godfather could not save him now
He was far too deep in his own pasta and meatballs
The spaghetti ropes were overcooked and falling everywhere limp
Like the clandestine antiestablishmentarian establishments
Fuck. He thought...he was stuck in a pot that he had not wanted to even step into
Magenta walls towered over him as he hoped someone would find him
Down this dark alley vertical in the ground
He looked up hearing a voice...Bharti? Was it her? Was it that no good mother of his come to rescue him everytime he couldn't solve his own problems?

An Uprooted Being

Just like plants, humans have roots too. And just like a plant's roots, human roots play an important role in our growth as individuals.

This piece stems from a common question and an attempt to understand my missing self.

"So, where are you from?"

I've been asked this question so many times in college. Everyone asks this to every other one. In a way, it's a question of curiosity. Do you fit the stereotypes that exist around your place of origin? Are you one of those nomads, meaning someone in your family is either a diplomat or serves in the armed forces? Or are you simply an NRI?

I've said different answers to different people. 

Sometimes it's just 'Delhi', assuming they're asking where my 'hometown' is, which generally translates to "Where do you end up every summer to visit family?"

Sometimes it's 'Bangalore', referring to my city of residence and where I've spent most of my life so far.

Most of the times though I end up answering with this: "I was born in Delhi, but I've never lived there. Then before I was one we moved to the States. I lived there for 7 years. After that we moved to Bangalore. And we're still here. So, you can figure out for yourself where I'm from."

There are times I go into a rambling story about my ancestors and where they're from, but that's only when people are asking for it.

Although people say it's quite clear where I'm from, all the while failing to mention the place they think so, I really don't feel the same.

In college, culture plays an important role in your work. A lot of motifs and illustrative styles emerge from the culture you would have immersed yourself into. This holds true even for patterns you weave into textiles, your choice of colours, even the look and feel of a product/piece of furniture you might create.

Culturally I've never been rooted to anything in particular. I've read about different cultures from across the world, spanning various time periods. While they're all really interesting, I didn't find myself wanting to follow any of them. I should be following my own culture, whatever that is supposed to be, but with my formative years being spent in one place and the rest of my life elsewhere, I've kind of gotten lost. Not to mention my parents are more spiritual and disciplinarian, with Western ideologies but Indian upbringing. Culture did not take up a very big part in my growing years. Maybe if I'd spent more time with my grandparents, I might have known more about 'my culture', but that's all pointless speculation.

Although I walk around like a lost soul with a part of my identity completely missing, it's not like I know nothing about my cultural ways. I just can't seem to associate myself with it. I'm not sure I ever will.

Mundu Mime

A poem I wrote for my character, which is now a mural.

Mundu Mime had no head. Well almost.
But the poor thing was almost dead.
Mundu Mime, he felt terribly stupid 
For his body was entirely crooked.
He felt so bad for his shape.
In every house, he hid behind the drapes.
The hosts, they always stared.
Poor Mundu Mime, how much he cared.

Mundu is the traditional attire for men in Kerala, India. It is a long piece of cloth that is tied around the waist in a specific manner.

Only the Paranoid Survive

I've lived for 19 years being paranoid. So far nothing bad has happened. But then nothing has happened either.

Being paranoid has its perks. Every time you venture out at night, you make sure there are at least 10 people with you. Sometimes you don't venture out at night at all, just to be on the safe side. Not even if there are 10 men along with you. You don't want those creepy, lusty men on bikes after you now, do you?

Available as different thoughts, fears and intensities, paranoia can be related to health too. A mosquito bit you this morning? Better to get tested for dengue and malaria. Sneezing are you? It could be the symptom for hundreds and thousands of fatal diseases. With paranoia, you wont have to worry about all of this. Why, you ask. Only because you would've taken the necessary precautions to avoid all these horrifying situations.

Paranoia would also cause you to question your parents plans for anything, from a trip to the movies to a trip to some exotic beach resort. You will begin to question what they are saying when they shut the door to discuss something private (and if you happen to open the door without knocking you'll find out they were talking in a foreign language... A sure sign you should prepare for the worst).

As you can read, you live in constant fear of anything and everything (for instance, I'm in fear of my parents reading this right now). Now, you must be wondering "Well, nothing bad happens... But what about the good stuff? What about letting go and having fun?"

No. As a person who's constantly paranoid, you tend not to. You don't go for parties at night, because someone might try to harm you while walking back home, if not at the party itself. You tend to stay away from people till you think they deserve your trust (which might take them time before they deserve it). You don't even go for group dinner outings for fear of getting home too late, thus giving you insufficient time to do your work. You can't even make it to your friend's surprise midnight birthday party, even if her house is 5 minutes away by cycle.

Paranoia can prove to be quite an annoyance when you're wondering where your social life went. But it's easy to get rid of too. All you have to do is take the leap of faith. And maybe, if you keep a tiny little bit of leftover paranoia, you can manage to survive in the jungle we call society.