My Trip to Victoria falls


  • Water, water everywhere.
  • Milky waterfalls.
  • Falls panoramic, to the left, to the right, and wide as one can see.
  • Knowing  not where to focus.
  • Feeling walled in like visitors to another world.
  •  The deafening roar of the crashing waters. Being not able to hear anything else.
  • Water muddy and brown transformed into pure white when it crashed.
  • Rivers of water cascading and taking every branch, leaf and twig in its wake.
  • Wondering how the  same friendly peaceful waters of the pools I loved swimming in at home and school could suddenly turn so powerful , violent and furious.
  • Mist, water and clouds and after a while not being able to tell the difference.
  • Being told to hold tightly to Papa’s hand and watching my excited sister with  Mamma ,hoping she would not try anything naughty.
  • Being afraid as we posed for pictures near the banks. The  African guide telling us one missed step and we would vanish into thin air.
  • Thinking Papa takes far too long to take a photograph from his big clumsy camera!
  •  Mamma’s umbrella being unable to shelter us from the oceanic back lash.
  • Being drenched through and through  from the spray of the falls when we came out.
  • Standing beneath the tall statue of Livingstone as we posed.Wondering how he must have felt discovering this place.
  • Being amazed that the gushing white waters of the waterfall later became blue and tranquil when we took a boat ride on the Zambezi River amidst the cool breeze and then black and choppy as sunset fell and night approached.
  • Feeling awed for the first time in my life.


victoria falls


My  Family, 1990.

Photo credits :My dear  Papa

A Date



At the end of a long day

Make a plan

Come home

To a date

When the city retires for the night

Light some aromatic candles

Pour yourself a drink

Run a hot bath

Disrobe your worldly roles

Slip into foamy bubbly goodness

Sink in

Settle in

Listen in to the quiet

Broken only by the sound of running water

Open the page of the book

And dream away……


Final Salute

A breeze blowing strong

Alerting our nerves to collect forth

Grassy knolls standing witness

To the circle of life and death


It is a sunny day

Today nothing about yellow is cheerful

It is a black day

Today nothing about black is elegant


Secrets whisper in the cave

Cry our private silent tears


Hearts thumping to the beat of drums

Feet marching to their onward journey

Courage rising and falling


Struggling to stand

But together keeping time

Secrets are a heavy burden

Only our collective conscience can shoulder


Receive our final salute


We are going down the hill

Fading out of sight, out of mind


Look away before it is too late

Grieving, helpless, unsuspecting humanity


Words travelling like bullets

Pandemonium of shock and fear

Topple feet barely standing


Am I in a trance?

I hear but sounds are arrested

I move but moves are suspended



Listen to my plea

Oh God! May this be not ending

And if it is to be

Listen before your hearing fades

And may love be your release


My eyes finally see what has forever being staring

I can finally leave

Knowing there is no escape to love within or without



Purses and Guns


Picture this:

A little black dress shirt belted,

Tresses shaken and tossed,

High heels clicking,

Dangerous legs,

Swaying hips,

A sexy stride,

The swagger of style,

The power of intimate red,

A sultry voice,

A flirty accent,

Dishing false compliments.


The surprise when soft turns tough,

Sassy turns savvy,

Attraction can be a distraction.

Vanity can kill,

A man’s common sense.

An inner diva released,

The famed femme fatale.






Amidst the noise and chatter,

Distant notes of music,

Waft towards us,

Calling one and all.


Arms in arms locked,

They race.

Hand in hand,

Wisk me away.


To a landscape of

Shimmering sequins,

Shiny disco balls,

Flashing 360 degrees.

Circles of light,

Revolving and dancing.

Faces glowing like

The constellations in the sky,

On a starry night.


Heads on shoulders,

We listen into

Soft lilting music,

Tilting our necks.

Synchronizing our steps

To magic, whispering,

Reaching a crescendo

In the reality

Now and then.


Leave the door open

You looked into my eyes

You saw my soul

Now don’t look away

After opening the gift

Don’t wrap yourself again

You laughed at my every joke

Now don’t hide that grin away

After quieting all my doubts

Don’t fill the silence again

You raced into my heart

Now don’t walk away

You put the good in my morning

Now don’t call it a night

After getting close dear pal

Don’t get all formal stranger again

You opened all the windows

Now don’t close the door

You found me

Now don’t let me get lost again

Don’t go

Forever stay.

open the door

Before Sunset


A tutty fruity coloured sky,

The last rays shining through the clouds,

Like skin peeping through white lace.

Waves racing then breaking at the shore,

Birds chirping noisily rushing to reach home,

Footsteps running to make it in time.

A smooth satin finish to the final moments

Before the vast stillness takes over,

Only a slight breeze keeping it alive.


Another one from the archives

How time changes!

Poetry a decade later…

This is a poem I wrote in second year of college. It was published in our college magazine Apoorva, 2000.

Woman-The tree of life


A tree, bare, standing with her arms outstretched to the sky,

Begging for the mercy of the Lord of the skies.

Falling snowflakes turn her into a white ghost,

Life sealed from the outside world.

Temperatures fall, ten, zero, minus, snowstorms rule;

Prolonged misery has killed all sensation, all rebellion.

Just as life ebbed away, the sun brings hope;

The snow melts, she sheds her fears and inhibitions.

A new leaf finds home on the tree;

She proudly displays her hospitality.

Come spring, the tree is one big green cloud;

Good times have attracted many a creature.

The tree is young and gives birth to many a fruits;

But Greed snatches away love’s labour.

Now only rotten, eaten, half skeletons remain;

The tree is surrounded by her dead children.

A rage emerges against the ‘Laws of Nature’;

But resolutely she decides not to quit.

She renews her faith in the vision of the future;

She will brave the times ahead and will emerge ‘A WINNER’


Miss Doll

She knows how to make an entry,

She stops the traffic,

She halts every conversation.

Her features are chiseled

Her hair curly brown

Her grey eyes sparkling

Her lips tight and peachy

Her dangling diamond drops

Her jingling bracelets

Her smoky eye shadow matching

Her dress fitting like second skin

Grace at every turn

Elegance in her every move

Ignorant of her charms.

Her emotions are displayed

As transparent as a child’s

Her desires are hidden

As secretly as a woman’s

Quick to anger

As easy as to please

Her forehead frowns

As cutely as her dimple

Take care

She is a porcelain doll

Every eye wonders after

Every hand afraid to touch

Lest she breaks


You are an enigma

Not a child

Not yet a woman.