Kamna's Blog

For forty four minutes today I napped Dreamless, divine, sweet and deep  I forget this occasionally: Control is a futility, in matters of sleep Elastic is the mind but oh it snapped Might give into the shortlived weep Then it is easy to accept resolutely: Climbing's hard, when the hill is steep My joints jolt, the ones that are capped But the knee can do with some upkeep With this I continue my sprint strongly: Keep moving, or become a scrap heap Potential isn't missing, but untapped  Examine inwards and be ready to leap The point I must propose pressingly: With direction, what is sown can reap My words lay vulnerable; unwrapped Seeking validation, I risk a peep But then I epiphanize suddenly: What I have, is what I choose to keep

I worry about - - not having enough space for you - the available mindspace not being fertile enough for your nourishment. Like a middle aged Indian aunty fussing over a houseguest - the confines of my mind not being enough for you to be conjured with the sass and spontaneity they show in movies. No fiery a-HA! moment would be possible because of all my careful caution -  not being open enough and rejecting you without reasoning You're just an idea who will - - pay only as much rent as would be the agreement  - take up only so much space as per my consent  - continue your tenancy for only as long as I want you around  - stay conspicuously absent unless I bring you front and center to the living room of my head You're just an idea who could - - breathe new life into old, likely rusty, chains of thought - delicately or assertively rubbish old comfortable notions  - change the way I feel about the morning sun  - radically impact my sense of humour about life...

Where are the holes in this smooth blanket? Forgotten like long buried potted plants from the nursery Woe is me again as I'm  Swollen and puffy from dental surgery Could you snooze & doze till noon? Dreams of lavender fields & cherry blossom trees Sunday morning feeling all the way through September and June What can be scary at this height? Friskiness and recklessness feeling like buddies Only and always, at the very edge do I dare to recognize my self inflicted plight  Will we sit in pregnant, forebearing silence? Observing with awe new lines on each other's forehead Like in a new school notebook With every swoop of a tightly held pencil a small imperceptible smile of confidence  Would it be ridiculous to splurge on both a new guitar and piano? The frilly white dress is hanging off the window sill in plain sight My hair is fresh, too damp from my longish shower  It's been 2 years since I wrote a song So if you nod now, I may take that to positively mean "no...

1997 Sipping directly from a gigantic orange while in the backseat of the Jeep on the way to Abidjan 2000 Salivating over a box of mulberries in the Opel Corsa through the ghats on the way to Panchgani 2004 Stuffing myself with fresh Rabdi from a clay pot in the 2nd class sleeper train at Mount Abu station 2005 Snarfing down a quintessential NYC hot dog while admiring the Lady of Liberty on the Staten Island Ferry 2006 Sitting, mind simmering with steaming plastic containers of Gushtaba on my lap in the Shikara on Dal lake 2010 Sampling my first ever Starbucks gazing out of Star Ferry on the way to Tsim Sha Tsui 2011 Sharing a pack of Haldiram's Aloo Bhujiya on the bus to Mysore Palace 2013 Snacking on a Princessa candybar on the Polskibus to Krakow 2013 Satiating my appetite with some Boots meal deal sandwiches on the London Tube to Camden Town  2015 Scooping greedy bites of strawberry cheesecake icecream on a Ferry in Sydney's Circular Quay  2016 Snarfing down a magazine ...

I inhale slow and deep Imagining the oxygen in the air grow heavy Heavy enough to dampen like a single lonely rain cloud Then lay a generous drop on my parched tongue Making waves with my arms every time I decide it's too cold  Or too hot Or when my own pulse is too loud in my ears Thinking about counting how long it would have been since I last saw sand Felt it beneath greedy soles succumbing into the gravity of the low tide 158 days  If my math is right  Since I wore shoes with socks Or heels with straps Held my hair to my ears during a windy morning auto rickshaw ride Sipped cheap, overly sweet tea from styrofoam cups Out of a whim From just finding a 10 rupee note from the bum pocket Rode an elevator with perfume and body odour both wafting Scents I can never place but were familiar as the wind itself Walked on a busy footpath on the side of incoming traffic Just for the thrill of it And get much more than I would like to seek 158 days since I crossed any road Seen th...

Where with a sea view and vows we started our nuptials full of joy and plenty of pale ale Now we slither into separate tiny cots in an oldage home forgotten with faceless nurses, the fabric of our skin, breadlike and stale Where once we would play online chess through bites of cheddar sandwiches, our unwashed selves hidden through the internet's comfortable veil Now we stand too close in this infirmary bath sharing soap, sliced through the middle, all thanks to your weirdly sharp big toenail Where being puzzled and brainstorming in the middle of an airport terminal: was it egg or chicken that came first and why the chicken crossed the road or was it rail Now we samba with fingers on the shared bedside table, my phalange chubbiness against your papery thumbs, until our eyes give unto sleep, surrender to fail Where it started sixty seven years ago with me checking you out and began to end fifty nine years later when you checked us into this jail Now every day is a Sunday repeated in ...