Aaji's Fridge

We're all a bunch of nomads
We don't have roots, we have a family tree
4 daughters, 8 grand-daughters & assorted family
Who all set out to travel as far as could be
Festivals were different wherever we would be
Even the hours moved very differently
Days passed by at different speeds
Reunions became distant dreams
But there's one place we gathered at
One place that remained
Aunts, cousins, husbands cats
One place to which we came

Open the door and take a look
You'll spot all parts of the globe
Work, travel, business & fun
Snapshots from wherever we'd go
Spices sourced from Italy
Saffron straight from Spain
Chocolates from Duty Free
And achaar always remained
We never met all at once
What with work, life, college, kids...
But we still connected somehow
In the interiors of my Aaji's fridge

No matter who, or where they were
We brought back lovely things to eat
Because we knew, once safely stored
They'd be the way the family meets
That fridge is a symbol of the family
Each taste different, each choice unique
Each ready to partake cheerfully
Of the complete insanity

There was always something for you there 

Whoever you were, there would be

Something special just for you 

Included in the mix carefully 

You knew, whenever you rummaged through

You were where you had a right to be

It wasn't just another fridge

It was a tribute to family

I don't know where that fridge will go now
Nor does the machine matter to me
I only wish, somewhere, somehow
We find another excuse to meet
How else will we share the love
What else could we use to bridge
Time zones, people, countries without
The central point of Aaji's fridge?
Where will home-made bhaaji meet
The sinful chocolate of the Swiss
Where else will the fancy Cheese
Meet gharcha loncha in total peace?
Our melting pot is unhooked now
The shelves morose & empty
We'll find another, there's no doubt
And on those shelves, again we'll meet
But the central point will always be
The shelves of my Aaji's fridge
Where we returned religiously
Despite work, life, college or kids.

APM Basement - My Life is a Box

Cat Addict - Poetry Slam, Mumbai

Because they're felines and you have no choice. They took over the internet, and will slowly take over the world!

Kahaani Kuch Jyaada Hi TV Ki

The midget is your usual TV-enthusiast child-of-the-90s.
I love my cartoons, and my RomComs and SitComs and have a particular soft corner good-looking men with sexy accents.
I don't usually rant about the media, because, let's face it, my bread-sans-butter comes from all kinds of media thingamies. But there's one thing I cannot suffer silently, and that's the soap-opera. More specifically, the Indian TVC's contribution to soap-operas has me fuming.
Because in a country where they only need the dream of the hint of smoke before they call the fire-brigade, the blatant kitchen-sink politics they showcase, even glorify can contribute to some unpleasant domestic situations. Our TVCs show violence, greed, crime, adultery, emotional abuse all in the guise of 'entertainment'.

It frustrates me. So I did what I always do when frustrated. I wrote. And then performed it. Here it is... Kahaani Kuch Zyaada Hi TV Ki

Responses welcome.

Critique encouraged.

Please do fight with me on this one. I'd love to have a chance to rant impromptu!

My Life is a Box

My life is a life in a box

Everything I own fits in a box

Every family member has a box.

I live in a box, sometimes out of a box.

Everything can be folded, just so

So everything has a proper place to go

All my things fit neatly one by one

New things replace the old stuff with which you’re done

There’s a master-box called ‘Life’ with a shiny red button

It’s the trigger that’s activated all of a sudden

And wham! The world springs into motion

Moving from hill to plain or ocean to ocean

Everything wrapped up in paper or plastic

Fit in its box, defying all logic

Nothing of life as we knew it remains

The four walls, once a house, now nothing’s the same

My room, the bookcase, bar, cupboards along

We move on and on and on and on

When I was young, I thought this was it

This was what every family did

Come home one day, the boxes are out

It never ends, all the moving about.

Eventually I guessed that it’s not a norm

Not too many others move on and on

So many times from one place to the next

That houses are static, I’d never have guessed.

I’d taken a flight before my peers did

I’d seen more new schools than any other kid

Somewhere in each new school I found

A familiar face from my past around

Every old friend was still different to me

We all changed, place to place, do you see?

Every new school was a chance to start fresh

Who you were from class to class was anyone’s guess

The nerd from 4D was the jock of the year

In 7A that shy chick from 3C appeared

But holy crap, she’s popular now

And how can you like THAT 10B cow?

Oh everyone changes from class to class

Like scenes from a movie, nothing much lasts

Your best friend with whom you played in the dirt

Now is the player with the mini-skirt.

That guy you always thought was a geek

Is now the one all hot girls seek

And you, the observer, from next to the wall

Don’t assume you haven’t changed at all

You’ll eventually all meet up once more

In a world where Facebook can even the score

And “Oh my God, you’re so different!” is the standard hello

From people who once you claimed to know

The Pandora’s box of your life the opens up

And reminds you that you’re still stuck

Amidst boxes.

Boxes with neat school-based labels on

Boxes with multiple names scribbled on

And some with no name that you’re scared to touch

For fear they might reminds you of too much

Every box opens into a wonderful world

In the past when you were a littler girl

And the boxes weren’t quite so very many

Neither were they ever quite so heavy

As life begins to become more multi-hued

Your boxes increase in number too

And when people talk of some vague ‘baggage’

You actually have it, in physical luggage!

You’re capable of lording it over

Any rummaging, kleptomaniac hoarder

And eventually, in the chapter for the life you led

There’ll be a list of box-contents instead

The Bed Next Door

The bed next door to me used to be

A comfy place to sleep in

Now it’s just a space

To store blankets and books and cats

Even the cats don’t go there any more, in fact

The bed next door to me is waiting

Waiting like a dog for the man of the house

Like a little child for its mother to awake so it can play

Like the breathless waiting for the final ball of the match

Waiting like a bed for the butt that’s supposed to lazily lie

And the slob that’s supposed to spend the mornings in it

Waiting for the mass of uncompromising lazy

And the comforting certainty of being worth something

The bed next door to me used to be a comfy place to sleep in

But now it’s a vacant waiting room

With vacant chairs

Occupied by vacant stares

Looking into vagueness for something that isn’t there

Waiting for the train to roll in

For the doctor to see you now

For the results of the entrance test that decides your future

The bed next door to me is a petulant little child

It refuses to wait

It throws off patience

It throws tantrums

It wails and stomps and screams

It demands

That you with the lazy butt

Come and calm the storm and sleep all day

And make it all better

Because the bed next door to me?

It’s annoying with its emptiness

And its unending waiting

Because it’s a bed, not a storage space

It deserves to be treated better than to be used

To store blankets and books and cats

Even the cats don’t go there any more, in fact.