November 18, 2013

Everyday Writing: An ode to a cup of water

No one talks 
about a plain cup of water
ignored it stands
in the illustrious company
of bottles of imported liquor
fancy concoctions of coffee
many cuttings of chai 
and other beverages of lore
what becomes of this loner?
its humble nonchalance
easily letting it get ignored!
And so for the underdog
that simple lonesome cup of water,
here, I lay down by its
glistening clear self
this little piece of verse 

(The above is a work of dullness, hyperactive imagination, analysis and a fierce loyalty towards the underdog, the losers and the forgotten creed of the nice people!)


It was the smell of the Oriental Manuscript Library where my aunt used to work. As a child I have been there a few times, fascinated by tiny illegible scrawls on nearly crumbling Palmyra leaves. And the scent was of lemongrass. I have forgotten what scrolls I held in my tiny hands. But the smell never left me.

Many years later, when I was eating for a living and trying Thai cuisine for the first time, I encountered the fragrance again. In a small pot of tea, pale green in colour and poured into my dainty teacup, I had my tryst with lemongrass. And it made me happy, and I realized that memory is a lovely thing too, sometimes!


November 12, 2013


Fear leaves you naked
And suddenly you see
Those scars that
clothes kept from view
Shampoos and foaming bath gels
Tried to wash away
Concealers and blushes
Did a good job in hiding

Dents, bumps and excess hair
Stinks and smells and
Stench of madness
Suddenly you are not you
But some downsized
Stinking beast with vile thoughts
Unbound fears
Ungrounded manias

Hyperventilating into paper bags
Temporary reprieve
To a pre-natal problem
Birth not cleansing
This teeming insecurity
Instead flaring the fire
Of a nagging question
“Am I enough to be me?”

November 10, 2013


There is always a breaking point, a boiling point- a point of transformation after which something ceases to be what it was. Over time, it may have looked unchanging. But one must remember that it has been simmering, crumbling within. Never flirt with that point. What happens after is a metamorphosis you may not like!

© Dryad's Peak
Maira Gall