Good in front of TV
Good on bean bag party nights.
Not good downhill
In car descents
Where rippled wafers
Embed particles forever and ever in your nails
Where a burp-bubble of coke keeps moving
Up n down the esophagus
Carrying with it chips masala.
Grainy oily chips
forever on your finger tips
Mixing with grease on the car handle
On the rupee notes
On your scalp when you scratch a bit
On that iron bar you must hold onto on hairpin bends
Bends when you lurch forwards
And a fancy mix of Kurkure -
Tedha hai par mera hai;
Uncle chips - Bole mere lips I Lurrve...
And Lays - No one can eat just one..
Threatens to come out in one mix
Where you can't figure one brand from another
One promise from another
One USP from another
One Target Audience from another.
Sniff sniff
They still smell
My achari masti fingertips.

Goa.

Control your body.

What control your body?

Position your legs.

What position your legs?

Just hold on tight

For the rodeo ride.

As the speedboat swerves flambouyantly

We hope it lives up to it's name - Lucky Star

Because tied behind on an inflated raft,

We aren't feeling so lucky, or loved or blessed by God.

Just gripping, grasping and rejecting our limbs, trunk, head

To flail, loll, fling and jerk about

As we're dragged on uneven waters

Tossed high up

Flying  like frisbess and then wham, bang, landing time.

First impact butt

Next neck,

Next total recoil.

Like slow motion videos of how and when airbags pop out

In smooth sedans.

Sand in my mouth, in my underwear

No idea what's seaweed and what's my hair.

Sputtering, we totter to the beach

Collapse and let masseurs run their hands.

Few seconds later, we sit like nothing ever happened

In flimsy threads, separating stars from long distance flights.

And the fire descends from the skies to the sand

As a fire eater comes along

Juggling three bottles.

He misses now and then.

A better performance than the smooth, perfect showman

Who does not triumph, fail, recover and exult with company.

Waves foam, froth and every now and then run up

To our toes and candles

Where we sit and eat.

All's good.

Little do we foresee

Ourselves tossing once more

3 hours later

On a weak Activa doing it's best

Down the wrong long road,

Towards a flight to catch.

Bravely sinking into potholes,

Leaping over speedbreakers.

While sleep holds on tight,

Snuggling in the crevices, convolutions of our tired brains.

Goa still parties on.

Two people flee.

Bye bye sea.

Look I know
I’m attractive n all
Hard to resist
But please control yourself
DON’T KISS ME.

When I sit in my pilot seat
A chequered muffler across my nose
Squinting eyes
Intense with bidi smoke
I know you want to
But
DON’T KISS ME.

You can enjoy pretense
Brush your fingers
When I change gears.
Maybe pour me lote se paani
Old school ishtyle
But lissun miss
DON’T KISS ME.

Sweet sweet weekend.

Sat morning - thundering Enfields.

Cult-brothers homed in.

Then a windy spring evening.

The smell of grass.

Akbar Road

Teen Murti

Shanti Path

Sailed on Trek

Nevada to jaggery-town

Passed Canada, Japan, Australia

Embassies.

A twinkling airbus flew overhead

Against dark rolls of cloud tinged with orange

And I sailed below.

Neck craned up

For a twitch sec,

And then zoommmmm….

Sunday morning.

Woke up right side of the bed

Threw my feet into sports shoes

Pedaled down a dawn-dark road,

Suhail in tow

With his fire-engine helmet

And loads of go.

Ripped the roads

In a band of 12

As perspiration started to break

As the sun came up

Ochre orb

We broke into drrrrrrt.

Fingers jammed in cold

Refusing to squeeze life-saver brakes

Began to thaw

And we skidded, hurled down sand,

Sending the odd peacock

Squawking away

Outta our way.

Ride done.

But legs got momentum going

And going

And going.

Clockwork.

Reached the P-Maidan Book Fair,

To meet kith & kin.

Mom,

Sitting pretty with volumes

Picked, selected, chosen and bagged.

Hit home. Nani & khichdi.

Hit Khan Market

Jasmine tea

A friend back from Kargil, Drass

Another pal ready to catapult to tropical Hyd

A friend loony n moony, inhaling new-found love.

Lull n stories.

Hit Maggie n Dane

A cosy bed

Crepes n tea-lights

Maggie’s dad with a thousand vials

Of different smells

Horsehair and daffodils

Precious mumbo jumbo

That his kids couldn’t mess with.

Café Morrison

A run-in

A massive co-incidence

You from SODA?

You know what Gaultier did for Madonna?

Finally, back to that day’s home.

Pillow and tring, tring.

Morning. Back on the saddle.

Photo by Hari Menon.

From under the table
An order rings out:
Slosh-a-osha, Gimme mosha!

If a Hamburg citizen ate a Hamburger, would it be cannibalism?

The tight, dry buds unrolled

And the dregs were blossoms.

Seaweed down the porcelain cup.

Jasmine tea.

Hey, how is it a new day?
Till today I had the same name.
I played the same game.
My intentions were uniform.
But today, I felt the need
To flip the day,
Change my creed.
I walked into a bar
And no beer
I ordered vodka.
You see, I had in tow with me
A Russian celebrity.
I went to the Circus
And no I didn’t applaud
When Mr Whiskers
Jumped through the hoop, a fireball.
I took a hop, a skip, a jump myself
And entered the centre-of-attention ring.
Shoving the oversize kitty away
I did my own ballsy thing.
I went through the hoop.
I went through the flames.
I perched on a stool
And sulked and roared to the ringmaster’s cane.
And then, just for effect
I blew a bubblegum and jumped into it.
Now can you do that
You big furry black and yellow?
Leave business to the real fellow.
Off I went again.
Call me Fiza.
In one place I cannot stay.
Main hawa hoon, kahin bhi rukti nahin.
Ruk bhi jaaon agar toh main rehti nahin.
I went to an advertising agency
To see what they were trying to sell to me.
A postpay connection?
A bottle of Mr.Muscle?
A mosquito repellent spray
Valentine’s Day Special Prepay?
They brainstormed and argued and chewed their pencils,
Sat with feet up, on swivel chairs in ill-disguised dismay.
I thought I’d lend a hand or brain
And help them push their idea train.
A concept, a deep thought, a direction need you?
Maybe an additional promo idea
Or a 360 proactive what-have-you.
Why not try and base it on smart urban home-makers,
Calling them expert housewives and astute career-makers.
The ages old idea won the day.
It would fuel 30 new TVCs and radio scripts again.
A washing machine, a microwave, a refrigerator
Would be sold.
The same stuff but new enthu.
Having done my thing, said my say
Having established that everyday is a new day
I returned to my not-so-humble abode
And fixed my chai.