A parody poem on the typical wedding scene in India


It was once a palace they say,

So we gave our guests a three night stay.

The décor was sculpted from literal ice,

Was it extravagant and grandiose?

Enough to make people stare and marvel twice.

And did it cost a heavy price?

Well, safe to say, now our bank balance doesn’t feel so nice


A suitable date needs to be decided

So we consult an astrologer and are guided

by planets and stars that float light years away.

Turns out, the only auspicious day is a Tuesday

But then guests can’t make it to the three night stay

So Pay an extra 100, the astrologer says

And the stars will ensure the weekend becomes your wedding day


The baarat arrives after an hour of delay

Presenting a 50 minute dance sequence in front of the hotel gateway

With pomp and show the ceremonies commence

Busy with the buffet, guests gaze at the proceedings

with interest that is pretense.

Then the bride and groom sit on throne like chairs

Acting as a selfie booth for dolled up relatives that come in pairs.

Smiles are feigned

And the couple is chained

by societal expectations

that strain their marital unification.

published at @inksword.magazine on Instagram

© @_theponderingkitten_


Under the glimmering night sky
a soft white curtain
stood unnoticed at the edge of a street,
fluttering as if lulled by the serene wind.
And it tells a forbidden tale,
of two silhouettes in love.

Two tentative heads peek at its edge ,
bent towards each other in careful speculation.
Emerge out of shadows the two figures,
behind the curtain standing at polar ends.

A song begins thrumming through their veins
electric energy buzzing through the air
and an amorous duet commences.
Two steps forward, a step to the side,
distance closing in with passionate strides
Arm’s length away, a halt.
Bodies shift in a coy fashion,
dancing along the rhythmic beats of their hearts,
It’s a melodic display of infatuation.

A twist and a twirl
they slink closer and closer
A hairs breath away, hands clasped back in self restraint
Chests heaving in laboured breath
movements charming each other in a flirtatious display.

The end of a verse
hands freeing from their back
two silhouettes collide like stars in space,
creating a universe for themselves
away from this prejudiced place.

On the shimmering curtain
they become smaller and smaller
walked away with
their fingers knitted together,
and heart strings strumming
in symphony

This lovely tale of two dancing silhouettes,
became a secret of the universe.
Away from the prying judgement of narrow eyes
of those who failed to understand love.

Mother and Her Plants

My mother has a garden. Well, it’s actually a quaint little setup in our balcony.  It’s an adorable arrangement with a bunch of beautiful potted plants and a round swing at a corner- the kind that can lull you into a light sleep with it’s gentle soporific motions.

Something you should know about my mother is that she is a petite woman with a childlike persona and an ability to make the best of any situation. She likes to keep the optimism flowing whether for her own sake or the people around her, I don’t know. Perhaps, it’s both.

And those plants seem to give her some kind of inexplicable joy. Maybe it’s in the way they bloom so gracefully with bright colors that she enjoys  the scenic beauty of the plants. They seem to provide her a sense of calm.

Or perhaps, it’s in the way the flowers crave warmth that she does too. I know she likes to bathe in the sunlight, evident in the way she sits facing the sun every morning. But I think it’s more than  just feeling the sun rays cascade her skin.
I think she seeks the kind of thoughtful care she gives to the plants for herself.

It seems, my mother and her garden are not so different in their desires.
And I hope both of them feel content with the ones who care about them.
For the plants, my mother.

And for my mother, her family.

A New Year’s Eve

It’s half past 11 now and the night is younger than it has ever been  in the past 364 days. There’s a light buzz in the atmosphere as if someone has sprinked electric energy ino the air . It is coupled with a whiff of anticipation and an inexplicable excitement that seems to be flowing through everyone’s veins.

There’s a couple of them flailing their limbs around in an elaborate sequence, dabcing is what they call it. They look ridiculous but indefintely happy.
A few seem to be playing a game of who can hug the most people before 12am. No one seems to be complaining even though those are sloppy displays of affection.

And I am leaning against an isolated corner, it’s  a good vantage point to observe, not so much if you want to participate in the celebrations.

My job  is to observe.

It’s a fascinating sight, all these people looking forward to the next 15 minutes as if it is a completely new begining when in reality half of them will be too hungover to get out of bed till noon.

I mean sure it can be an utterly new begining but they don’t know this, humans can’t reset themselves.

There’s a ringing sound just then, only audible to my ears.
It’s a call from the mothership,
‘shall we initiate memory reset?’

‘No. They don’t need it.
What these intriguing creatures do need are their experiences, good and bad. They seem to carry hope for a better tommorrow even though most seemed to be morbid about 2017.
Let’s leave these complex beings  to survive at their own devices.’

For now.