The writer and an idea
Sunset melts into moments dark and delicious Surrounded by utterly sinful gonadal giggles It is like a walk on the periphery of temples With all the Gods locked inside their cages The wind loves to softly caress, and the darkness Envelops forming an impenetrable cordon Happy pauses and joyous exclamations are the only grammar In...
Ideas live, creators die
An idea is born but instead of metamorphosing into words and emerging as a story, it chooses to run inside the body until it finds an outlet. The idea comes out as a tear-drop that spreads and covers the body in a vicious grip until the creator dies. The idea lives for ever. ...
Utsav sells his first idea
This happened in the mid-nineties when I was in York, UK. My wife was there working for her DPhil as a Commonwealth Scholar and I was there with her for a few months to help her settle down and, of course, see as much of that country as possible. We had Pushkin, our son, with...
Evolution of an abstraction
[“Desire is not what you see, but what you imagine” – Paulo Coelho] ‘I’ starts a conversation with an image in the mind sometimes getting prodded by the eye, for only images don’t age, intoxicate like gin in a virtual world of dreams and when a human heart accepts and is hopelessly helpless, ‘imagine’ becomes...
