White lies

White lies is what the man in the story tells his wife about their non-existent sons in America

The story of four sons . Three of them are in America earning their filthy dollars while the fourth one has stayed back at home to look after the aged parents.

The sons in white America send white dollars to the parents to enable their journey.

What if one of them has a white wife who is good enough to get him to buy a car for them and it is still a white lie.

How nice, who knows what lies ahead!

White America, white wife, white lies

The man spins his yarns in the train’s clackety, clackety to a wife who knows in the depths of her heart it is these lies, these white lies that make up their lives.

To the lone fellow-passenger who has own white lies to speak. Every one has his own white lies.

His narratives fill the vast silences of the night as the train slices through them.

Their white fluorescence illumines the darkness in his soul.

It is these white lies that dispel black existential questions for a moment.

Like the soft beam of the train’s headlight that brings several dark bushes into transitory existence and then leaves them to the oblivion of the night.


( A Telugu short story entitled “Yatra Special” by Dr. Somaraju Susheela)



There are four different personalities of us

1) What we think we are
2) What others think we are
3) What we actually are
4) What we think others think we are

3) is fairly simple: a situation which is an objective reality we seldom come to know in all our life

2) is an objective reality which we some times come to know but only in bits and pieces but the filter in (4) prevents everything from being visible

4) A subjective reality which does not tally with (3) and rarely, if ever, corresponds to objective reality with several filters operating to prevent 3) from appearing
“What we think others think we are” is what determines our self-esteem to a great extent and makes us go on in the rat-race.

Kites on our roofs

A gentle breeze touches  our winter skin , the very kite flying  breeze we used to have on our roofs this day years ago  .

On the  day the sun turns north , kites will be flying on high roofs in our former spaces. The breeze will be flying rooftop kites cutting each other down. Here we have no kites for  the sun’s northward journey. But  we have rice flour chariots for the sun on our roads.

Here we  will see women making beautiful rice flour drawings before the houses. Their motifs include new sugar cane and flowers of kitschy shapes. Some times there are chariots  for the fiercest sun.Their colors run deep as their blood emotions. They  run deep in ancient  cave memories.

Morning walk thoughts

Home is at the center, the circle the extended home
Woman is at the center, ha, man moves in her circle
Another woman, another circle, another center, home.

Actually I was not thinking about woman and home
What makes us come back to the same place in the evening
And not move away and away into the vast spaces out there.

Home becomes circular box, a balcony with iron grilles
Monologues occur in the inner space in morning walks
The park walk in the oval round provokes thoughts, words

It is words which provoke thoughts, thoughts provoke words

A spiral of words triggering thoughts which trigger words.

My thoughts and my words flow from images on the road

A dusky girl is sweeping the dead leaves before the gate.

Woman is carrying a brown pitcher of water on the shoulder

The water moves up and down at the rim threatening to spill.

A thought comes water falls on the brown blouse makes it black

Making the water patch indistinguishable from her sweat.

Man is carrying a brown plastic pitcher of water on the head
And paint can in the hands,
Imagine his carrying a black laptop

Wrong imagination, you can only imagine what is possible

The mind fights because a man can carry a laptop in hand

With the brown pitcher of water on the head with one hand on it

Can is okay but does he do that normally, I ask you, again.

These monologues in the inner space I carry on in the park
Collecting in the process images with an iridescent glow

Iridescent glow is not a “then word”, but an “after-word “
This has happened just now as I am writing these words

Three children walking, hand in hand, in morning glow

Another speaking to herself loud and talking to the sun

My camera not in the pocket, their silhouettes remain in the mind.

Can I click them later from the images in my mind?

Bana in East Aleppo

There’s Internet in East Aleppo. There’s solar in E. Aleppo. There’s Bana in E. Aleppo who’s suffering & tweeting. Good night. – Fatemah

Good evening my friends. What are you doing today? I am happy I lost two more teeth. – Bana #Aleppo

There is internet in East Aleppo. Solar in East Aleppo. There is Bana in East Aleppo.

Good evening,friends. What are you doing today ?

We are buying vegetables for the night.We are writing poems.We are staring at the computer screen.We will tell you when we are through.

You have lost your two teeth already? Oh!  We had lost all our teeth long ago.

Bana’s tweets

Bana does not say porappo in TV ad. She is seven year old girl bird from Aleppo.She tweets like a little bird who is searching for her tooth.

Her tooth fairy is afraid to come due to the bombing. It will probably come after the bombing is over.By then there will be no tooth left.Nor Bana’s tweets.