I have never done a drunk post and well it’s about time.

I love Paul Reiser’s book Couplehood. You may ask Paul Auster’s? I will just gravely shake my head. Now unless you know the two authors, you won’t get the joke.

I do not know how many of you are in your thirties and have already figured out life is shitty. Don’t worry if you haven’t you will soon .

Jokes while being callous is protection. For example and please don’t burn me at stake:

My husband is having an online affair.
Well you know I was never good at technology.


Ohhhh …she has cancer? Terminal?
And she never smoked …what a waste?


You’ve been having diarrhea all day?
Well, if you have some good books it’s fine.


She left you for HIM??? !!!
Well, you can’t punish her more.


Your sixteen year old daughter is pregnant?
At least she won’t have sex, drugs and alcohol for it’s bad for the baby.


Your boss is sleeping with the chairman?
Phew, you won’t have to.


You’re maid stole your mangalsutra?
At least she didn’t take your books of poetry, I loved your Ted Hughes, e e cummings, charles bukowski ….


Global warming is going to kill us.
Well, you know how expensive life insurance is.


The Jasmine Revolution is name of pick-up joint.
Well, at least the UN and NATO and moralistic pricks won’t be involved, but of course there will be other pricks involved, the organic kind.

Well, you know what I mean. It’s not in good taste, it’s probably not even funny but there is an interpretation of it, which is not mundane. There is a sort of fuck-you fate, shit happens but my toilet paper will be smooth-as-silk kind of attitude that humour has.

Humour of course, suffering from existential angst, would ask any linguist, ‘Does it realleee, realleee matter if I have a U or not?”

These are not questions I can answer. All I can say is if my husband says “I’m leaving you tonight”, then I would ask him, “Does that mean I can keep the AC at 13 and finally get the goat into bed?”

And all I will say is I am bloody glad for that sense.


She has my name and once long ago we spun stories about the universe, randomness and the truth. This poem is the one she wrote about my poems and I already love it more. Thank you Aarthi.

how come
you are writing
so much poetry

feels as though
I’ve met a part of you
that you may not even know
you had


what a fool!
that must have
been me
that you tricked
into thinking
was you


For my friend A, who wanted me to write something happy, I don’t know whether this qualifies.

I painted my toes bright pink
Shiny dots that looked up at me
From peasant, brown, wrinkled feet.

As I scurried through the street
I wonder if others saw
This attempt at prettiness
A bit lame, I agree
But I always eat up lipstick.

I wiggled them a bit
While standing at the bus stop
But nobody looked down
And caught their breath
Mesmerized and staring
Forever at my coloured cuticles.

I came back home
And changed the bedsheet
So that they don’t clash
With my toes.
The maid walked in
All excited I propped them up
Against the white, white wall
She couldn’t miss them now
Could she?
She did but then she spotted
Dirt in a corner
And swept it away.

Maybe it’s not such a big deal
A lot of people have pink toes
And nobody compliments them
Not even they themselves
And they don’t expect flattery
For it’s like saying
I’m so glad you have a nose or
What a lovely elbow or
Your kneecap is so fine
For pink toes are normal,
I guess.

As for me, well, I’ll always be
The tomboy who had to wear a bra.


Strange days of limbo

Empty canvas, the paint ripped off

History waiting to be forgotten

Sentences have stopped,

Some words still straggle on

Red sun suspended in smog

Uncaring about my mood

Preening, its beauty

Touching a smile

For a brief second

The world of pain