May 11, 2012

Thendral Vanthu Theendum Bothu

(dedicated to Swetha Ramachandran for the rediscovery)

Someday sometime, listen to this song.

And you will know what I like about life.

I am waiting for the first summer rain so I can prop my feet on my balcony sill, look up at the sky ripped into a brilliant many pieces and white pearl drops fall off from its torn inky fabric, to listen to this song again.

I can almost smell my happiness at that moment.

May 08, 2012

Hill side stories- 1

(a series, dedicated to my bachchaa and my moody kettle, Mayank Bisht

He crushed the stalks between his fingers. The citrus-y smell of lemon grass filled the garden. I suddenly felt like I was under a waterfall on a cold evening during twilight.

I picked up the crushed stalk and smelt it up close. The attic. Yes, it reminded me of Nani's attic, with its many dusty trunks and old clothes my sisters used to stitch clothes for the dolls and boxes tearing up at the edges, filled with books in languages- Tauji's once-upon-a-time obsession.

Tauji was always up to something new. He was unmarried and stayed with Nani. Every year, he took up a new hobby. It was always so wonderful when we came back in the holidays to Nanis place. Tauji would be studying insects, or building tree houses, or cooking pastries! And he would always let us kids try out. My summers were spent peering through microscopes at the brittle wings of the dragon fly or running up hills trying to fly gargantuan kites. Tauji was the favourite of all kids.

May 05, 2012


This is my 500th post and I wanted it to be special, like I've wanted everything in life to be. Somewhere in my search for the special things, I have probably lost out on very many things.

However, this post is not a lament.

So I decided, I won't wait for that perfect poem or that well-worded prose to mark the 500.

I decided, I was just going to be write a simple toast to this space that has meant so much to me- a partner since 2004, unflinchingly listening to my raves and rants for eight years now. Okay, we have had our tantrums as well: posts that disappeared before getting published, drafts that surprisingly never got saved and very very many appearance adjustments that sometimes ended in a fiasco. 

But we have come beyond it all in this ride, and I am happy I still have this blog as proof for how juvenile I had been, and how so much better I have turned out. I mean, I could have been worse! (Go read my old posts. Or rather, please don't!!!)

I have often wondered why I post so much and how I have managed to be pretty regular, writing in my blog. I guess, I never thought of it as something to 'maintain'. It was effortless and self-sustaining. 

So here's to my blog, for being there, and for hopefully continuing to do so, for as long as I can write!

Here's to a fabulous 500! :)

May 02, 2012

Bleating for rain!

In the sleepy fringes of the city,
the rain falls.
an unknown fury in its fall
hiding in its sound
the pietous cries
of a wailing woman

as the wind howls
through cracks in walls
and huge unused drain pipes
a little child stays awake
scratching at window panes
tracing the slithering routes
of water snakes the drops make

as threats of a storm
gather up clouds
to strengthen its troop,
a new born shoot
shivers in joy
as water drizzles down
welcoming its birth

under the dazzle of light
and the boom of thunder
as a fear untraceable
ripples across the city
two love lorn puppies
snuggle closer for warmth
a faded film poster
of the hero-heroine
coming to rescue
on a rainy night

far away in a distant city
burnt with the heat, and
weathered to a dull decline ,
two dreamy eyes,
hungry for rain
put to pen a vision
with a hope and prayer,
for a little shower
to paint her night 

Looking at the fair

In the distance
A giant wheel spins
Colours of every kind
Circling in the horizon
A rainbow swirl lollipop
I can almost taste

May 01, 2012

...and today

under a sickle moon
stars scattered carelessly
across the black skin of the night

when an inexperienced wind
tossed in sputtering bouts

on a stretch of weathered tiles
over the belch of angry trains
walking, I spoke to you

© Dryad's Peak
Maira Gall