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Under the Withered Roof
The tears I dropped on my mother’s casket were wiped off with an off-white handkerchief by a hand filled with bulging veins and dominating wrinkles. I heard a comforting scolding, hinting to me that this man is too long in the tooth to...
Rise in Love
A ping sounded on my phone, and the words blinked on the screen at six in the morning.
“RISE IN LOVE.”
I squinted at the screen, half-amused. The message could only be from Kim—always dramatic, always turning a simple morning greeting into something that promised...
The Man with Horns
Close to the end of my ties with Catharine, I was inconveniently reminded of the time when I learned that I grew up with a father from whom I wasn’t exactly begotten.
This—this sudden act of remembrance—happened as she and I had just walked...
Lines from My Nepal Notebook
A whiff of jasmine
Rose petals scattering
Mighty pines dancing
Bamboos swaying, dipping, snapping back
Sunflowers gazing at their namesake in giddy worship.
A windy spring day in Godavari.
(April, 2011)
A Portrait of My Father
Last night was your birthday
Forgot to tell my cousin
to light a candle
on your grave.
DID I LOVE YOU ENOUGH
DID MY WORDS HURT YOU
YOUR SHADOW STALKED ME
I PROMISED
THERE WILL BE NO TEARS
I remember your laughter
as you sit in that corner of our apartment
and Itim, our...
The Arrangement of Falling Things
Along the walk to the InstituteThe Indian cork tree begins its silent shift.White, five-pointed stars rest on the pavement,not fallen, but arranged,as if the long night had paused hereto remember itself.
Each blossom is a cool reprieverising through the warm morning.They ease your steps,...
