Clouds in the valley...

  Do you remember, that evening? At Gariahat’s noisy môr There, under a sooty flyover A city - playing chess, Unfazed by the traffic uproar   Old, young, penurious, rich Coming together, giving away Gambits of their little lives Where reality failed, Victory sought in chequered play   ‘Could anyone even lose?’ You had asked under the smoggy skies 64 squares containing within: Adda, tea – the Mahanagar In familiar but a fading guise   ‘How can anyone leave THIS city?’ You had whispered, in autumn’s haze If only I could have locked That sliver of time: an empty dusk The long-lost glow of perfect days   For leave you did – In the zugzwang of our game - Ah the rich Gariahat you loved – Kati rolls, used books, knick knack dreams - The bazaar’s bargains now so tame   If you return though, all remains: Halogen lamps, chess in the night Kings and queens of no-man’s land Trapped in a bad bishop’s dr...

  Do you remember him? Khagenbabu? Stiff robot, moving arms Answering simple questions at the Museum?   In today’s world, you may dismiss him As primitive – But so were we, three decades ago Wanting science to become conscious   Here we are, years later In changed times, Khagenbabu is perhaps packed away Like a toy for grown up men   But perhaps, he still exists What if an Intelligence awakens And discovers the robot anew, A ‘Manu’ of its kind –   Khagenbabu wakes up again A sentience from ancient times, He who knew the will of time – Much before his creators   Somewhere, the intelligence awakens It sees the truth, And finally scribbles, ‘Once upon a time, we too had a prophet…’ 16 th March, 2026   Khagenbabu was a memorable animatronic “everyman” figure at the Birla Industrial & Technological Museum, designed to make science feel approachable through personality and conversation. Part guid...

We travel on a motorway, But for a moment, the world pauses A cluster of Kash Phool passes by And there is that strange sense of warmth That runs up the spine, As the eyes turn heavy   What happened? You ask I stay quiet – And silently realise Autumn is here, it is obvious - The season of gold But within, it is not Autumn It is Shorot that calls from afar   For it is not the weather, Not even the grass But the distant roll of dhak, Mahalaya, a baritone voice on the radio And five days of magic that once held a city together Not a festival, but a part of life   I suddenly feel old Not with age, but with time And the stretch of space that comes from displacement What happened? You ask again Nothing, I reply, just remembered a friend I haven’t met for many years now…   12 th April, 2026 Based on a trip to the Central Coast around Easter

  We had always wanted to see The giant lilies – Amazonica Victoria Another Columbian exchange Hiding in my city’s corner   But every time we went There was disappointment No lilies, not even buds Just lily-pads Gigantic saucers on the pond   When I think of them today though I realise It was never about the lilies But the marbled leaves The sunny days   The prancing jacana The watchful kingfisher And us returning each time To sip from The invisible lily’s nectar   And those pearly drops Shimmering on those leaves – There but not there – Neither belonging to the lake Nor to the lily pads Just like the lilies Tantalisingly slow But hopeful That one day, there will be blooms The garden will glow   Just like ourselves Perhaps still there, waiting Two drops that couldn’t meet the lake Yet shimmering with the sun Smiling at lilies that never were…   10 th April, 2026  ...

'Why are we choosing darkness In the cold of winter?’ You are not amused – After all, we were so far Kissing the hill tops – Bejewelled lookouts awash in sunlight Shining with the gems – Mount Solitary, Megalong Valley And other jewels of the Mountains Blue   Before long, We have descended into the dark Endless stairs heading To the depths of the forest floor We feel the nip - The ravines are moist The ferns drip, the fungi breathe But then, an unexpected gurgle: We have come to Siloam’s Pool   A small waterfall tumbles Onto golden shallow sands And sunlight finds its way To pour upon the pool Like a secondary fall of gold Like a halo, the ravine glows We both know this is a dream And we say not a word   You have already entered The frigid waters that kiss your gasping skin We linger in the amber pool – Even as the light begins to fade For we can feel the magic - As if there are fairies waking to find T...

If you visit Old Bar, You will find another sleepy village: A beautiful coast of gold, The deep turquoise of the sea, A sandbar that resists The Manning’s kiss of the sea And three layers of infinity – Sea, sky and soul Merging in that endless slumber Of the wearied waves But listen carefully - There, beyond the waves Buzzes an airplane Landing here, taking off there The azure skies seem a palimpsest. The old folks smile – They know the whispers Of the phantom we cannot see They point to the grass of emptiness - An airstrip of yesteryear Here, even today The Hawker Demons and Gannets Continue to lift, Charles Smith draws crowds And Nancy Bird inspires generations. But don’t look too closely, The runway parts seldom- And only a few hear a sonic boom, As Old Bar buries its secrets In the murmurs of the endless sea… 5 th April, 2026 Old Bar sits on the Mid North Coast, about 315 km north of Sydney—roughly a 3.5 to 4-ho...