Reminiscence- A collection of haibuns — Why do we write? Is it to satiate our soul, to express the inexpressible, or to present some stories that we know can resonate with if not all, but definitely a few of the readers. I remember vaguely, the day when holding my dad’s fingers, I visited this local bookstore…

Rhapsody of Tranquility — The rolling waves caress my feet, I feel those tiny water molecules pass through me, a sense of coolness engulfing my skin, for a moment I wonder if the truant waves are trying, trying hard to dis-balance my existence, as if a little angry for blocking its way to meet the love of its life, the…

Across Languages and Mostly Underrated Songs — Indian film music, a vibrant tapestry of melodies, unfolds before us like an ever-expanding cosmos. Each passing day begets many compositions, a symphonic torrent accompanying the emergence of new cinematic masterpieces. Amidst this deluge, navigating the labyrinth of popular chart-toppers, relentlessly thrust upon us by the inscrutable algorithms of YouTube…

A Night’s Silent Yearning — The moon doesn’t exude clarity today, your eyes are not able to pinpoint those craters, an old grandmother knitting stars, sitting cross-legged on the core, instead, the moon seems hazy, dunked in an earthen tumbler full of cumulonimbuses, surrounding itself with uncertainty, perhaps a bit shy, not wanting the poets to see…

Transcendence at dusk — As the slanting rays of the rising sun meandered through, the minuscule air molecules, caressing every organism coming in contact with it, before gazing into the Ganges, into the ghats, where a woman was standing, in the river up to her waist, uttering silent prayers to Mother Ganga, she was lifting handfuls of water…

Defying the Villain’s Reign — The raging villain, his face tissues, his red eyes amassed with revenge, seven-foot-one-inch height, staggering momentarily, the muscular and rugged fist pin-pointed towards the hero, punches him so hard, that his face splashes a rain of blood droplets, the hero, unable to comprehend the magnanimity of the hit, his eyes blurred, his senses trying to…

Tales Beneath the Thunderclap — My grandmother used to tell me to close my ears when cracks of lightning, scribbled shiny poetry on the night sky with grey clouds, I was anyways too afraid, and even closed my eyes, tightly shut down, and she would caress my head and hum poems and stories, near my ears, as the lightning…

The Banyan’s Adoption — Perched under the leafy refuge of the century-old banyan tree, learning, growing, was this unknown plant, an orphan, scrambling for support, a companion, no one near it looked like it, teary-eyed it kept searching for someone, someone alike, that it could sense as a mom, as a dad, a friend, it kept looking around, smiling, trying…

Radio’s Whispered Triumph — He looked at his shop, engulfed completely in a quilt of darkness, except for that momentary tingling of the sepia light bulb, which seemed to have gulped a bottle of country liquor. Walking slowly, each of his steps made sure to make the least possible noise, but for the truant…