The place I wanted

It was the kind of day that makes a spider’s web flash golden in the sunlight. When I think back I remember the musk and stink around the houses, along with the scampering, dressing and dashing off to college.

A free afternoon is a thing of beauty, with the creaking and reluctant windows gone you could peer right up. They could build around you but not above you. While I praised the logic of the chaotic room, rented while the old house decayed, she assured me I should try living there.

Time went by quick stride the three legged bed ride, the sky open, vast, deep, lavender. We should be afraid, floating in the air. I am. I wish I could hang all night, climb the roofs. Climb up with a blanket.

“You like the house or you like me?”

A year later. I tell them I wish I lived there.

When L laughs her shoulders shake. I’ve invited M & K. She’s in bed with P but I’m the main attraction. They kiss, juicily. She grabs P’s squirming hand.

I’m trying to recognize the song while I rant about something I can’t remember anymore. I can’t do both. I can’t do either. I put a hand to my head and forget both. I open my mouth and I wonder what’s wrong. It was a second. Must have looked like surprise. K sees.

“A penny for your…”

I raise a hand. I’ll take it elsewhere: my problem.

I didn’t want to see the house half empty, dishes packed, mats rolled up. Her house – so unlike mine. I remember it’s dim and the wall a strange damp. I am not facing the window, I look into my shadow and see others around it. One a shepherdess. I’m not like these sheep I tell myself. I have a lot of spite. It’s an easy feeling.

Big windows, bright colours. If I go now, I see the doors gone. Empty and abandoned. None of us could cook or afford to order. Sad snacks we called what we could make. I think I should call them but what’s the point? We’re strangers now but I still wish I had that house.


 A face dripping  daylight 
A seaside cafe
Nursing dregs
Over a story
The skyscraper spire
They wear clip on ties
The unseen order of things
Talk of war, sugar in darkness

Instant Crush

The past’s a broken mirror

Cut yourself while you put together

an image now clearer.


I saw my memory that doesn’t die

You’re someone I used to know

Things go awry

When your near, memories flow

Why do you have to be someone I used to know?

Serious E-Stalking

It’s one thing to google yourself, but stalking people who share your name is a far more interesting and rewarding experience.

Psychologists say people like hearing their own names and I guess its true. I don’t know many people with my name and it’s unusual enough for no-one to have ever made a nickname that’s stuck. Maybe that’s what makes me feel like the name is mine and maybe that’s why seeing people with the name is so weirdly fascinating.

The many websites that explain what Rijul means also list an bunch of stars and planets that go with the name and even offer you advice on what Chinese zodiac signs or birthstones you should get for your self. But that’s just the usual crazy.

Most of the Rijul’s I found had the surname Jain. I always figured it was a Jain name but was surprised to find that it was unisex.  If Google images is to be believed nearly all Rijul’s wear suits and a terrible number of them are on LinkedIn for no reason. Seriously there are teenagers called Rijul on LinkedIn sharing Dragon Ball Z memes.A surprising number of these teens wear suits which makes me feel bad because I might have only worn a suit twice in my life.  And I still haven’t found a single Rijul under the age of 30.

But the most Bizarre thing about the image results is the large number of images of cakes with the word “Happy birthday Rijul on them.” There are easily more than 27 of them that come from a website called “HappyBirthdayCakePic”

On twitter the most prominent Rijul is a Rijul Jain who says NASA launched moon missions with computers less powerful than out phones while all we do is launch birds into pigs. He hasn’t been active since 2011 and like all the other Rijul’s wears a suit.

There is a website “1happybirthday” that offers birthday songs that you can download. It even has Spanish translations of the happy birthday song dedicated to Rijul’s. Unfortunately its sung by a white lady who keeps saying bday and reeejwel so it sounds kinda weird.

There’s also a blog that is run by another Rijul who extols people to be gentlemen and women. I also found a video called Rijul at 9. It’s a video of a small kid playing at the park. The fact that the park is deserted, the video has no previous views, the video-maker makes no noise and seems to be filming from a far away location make the video really creepy. And of course even the dam kids was wearing a suit.

The uncool-est thing I found was an urban dictionary entry about Rijul. The entry goes :

An awesome name of a dude who likes to play guitar and basketball. People enjoy being around Rijuls a lot. Rijuls are party animals who love to socialize.
Girl 1 – That dude is so awesome. I wish he was my boyfriend.
Girl 2 – Yup, he’s a Rijul.
The entry has an equal number of up-votes and down-votes.And of course it made by a guy called Rijul. I don’t know how to feel about this.

There’s also a website dedicated to some Rijul’s wedding. There are plenty of “pre-wedding photo’s” of some other Rijul’s on Facebook but none of them go so far as website Rijul. No not even the Bengali blog that has picture of another Rijul (in a suit) signing his marriage documents goes as far as website Rijul. Because website Rijul has three websites about his marriage that is yet to take place. The websites tell you all about what they want their guests to buy, where in California they are getting married, about their family members, what their friend think of them, what their siblings think of them etc.

Their about page has been edited. Possible because the previous entry made it clear they had never met each other and had been forced into the thing by their parent’s. Now it has some generic messages about love. And of course the numerous pictures of Website Rijul all have him wearing suits.

You might ask what the point of all my stalking and this essay was. I don’t know, I’m usually the one rolling my eyes at the people who stalk people on Facebook. But I had an hour to kill and at least it was entertaining.

At The Match

Above the filling clusters of people,

fluttered moths and insects of night

in the revealing rays of stadium light,

who care not for the flight of beetles

when echoed growls follow the rite

and crackles of colored light,

while monsoon brought no evils

only drizzle colored grey against night.


After  walking the long winding maze of streets that were filled with loud cars and people, the chirping crickets sounded like aliens.

You could still hear the bikes rushing past, the shopkeepers and customers talking, and the food shops frying the nights special, as you enter the street. The street seemed like a lifeless world without the buzz of electric lights or voices that carried out from within the homes around its flanks. If electricity was still supplied, this street along with three others would surround and guard the park and fill it with voices, as though the patch of greenery was a great marvel meant to be protected, preserved.

You could hear footsteps and people brushing aside the low hanging branches as they made their way away from the park. There was only one person walking in the opposite direction at any given time, so even if the night left you blind you’d hear footsteps and know where not to go. A man left the park and walked into the street, his dog’s chain clinking as they darted to and fro, lead forward by excited sniffing.I heard his feet scrapping along the road and crushing leaves long after he disappeared from underneath the dim moonlight.

I heard a group of kids in the park huddled around a single bench. They argue with each other for more space in hushed voices. Another dogs, which has no chain, is busy turning over rocks, kicking up leaves and wining excitedly. One kid, who sounds young, keeps repeating in Kannada that his uncle has a phone and he wants a rematch. An old couple sit on the elevated foot path murmuring to themselves.

On the left I see a woman open her squeaky window, she lights a match and goes back in.A group of Rajasthani women clothes as loud as their voices have what I mistake to be a yelling match with other Rajasthani women in cramped apartments. As their laughter carried across the streets and echoed off the houses, I realized they were just having a conversation. An old couple who looked a lot like the two who were sitting murmured as they pointed at the women.

I reached the end of the street and heard someone bounding up their stairs. the power came back on as I walked back. TV’s came back on, the now nosy street and park gained a renewed vigor. Lights and people buzzed about me. It was still quite in comparison to the main street, but not as silent as it was before.

I could now see people in their homes. They like the noise, seemed to heave come from no-where. An Enfield purred and another in response. I walked off the street and all the street’s nosises were drowned out.