Kamna's Blog

For forty four minutes today I napped Dreamless, divine, sweet and deep  I forget this occasionally: Control is a futility, in matters of sleep Elastic is the mind but oh it snapped Might give into the shortlived weep Then it is easy to accept resolutely: Climbing's hard, when the hill is steep My joints jolt, the ones that are capped But the knee can do with some upkeep With this I continue my sprint strongly: Keep moving, or become a scrap heap Potential isn't missing, but untapped  Examine inwards and be ready to leap The point I must propose pressingly: With direction, what is sown can reap My words lay vulnerable; unwrapped Seeking validation, I risk a peep But then I epiphanize suddenly: What I have, is what I choose to keep

I worry about - - not having enough space for you - the available mindspace not being fertile enough for your nourishment. Like a middle aged Indian aunty fussing over a houseguest - the confines of my mind not being enough for you to be conjured with the sass and spontaneity they show in movies. No fiery a-HA! moment would be possible because of all my careful caution -  not being open enough and rejecting you without reasoning You're just an idea who will - - pay only as much rent as would be the agreement  - take up only so much space as per my consent  - continue your tenancy for only as long as I want you around  - stay conspicuously absent unless I bring you front and center to the living room of my head You're just an idea who could - - breathe new life into old, likely rusty, chains of thought - delicately or assertively rubbish old comfortable notions  - change the way I feel about the morning sun  - radically impact my sense of humour about life  - fuck with my deep s

Where are the holes in this smooth blanket? Forgotten like long buried potted plants from the nursery Woe is me again as I'm  Swollen and puffy from dental surgery Could you snooze & doze till noon? Dreams of lavender fields & cherry blossom trees Sunday morning feeling all the way through September and June What can be scary at this height? Friskiness and recklessness feeling like buddies Only and always, at the very edge do I dare to recognize my self inflicted plight  Will we sit in pregnant, forebearing silence? Observing with awe new lines on each other's forehead Like in a new school notebook With every swoop of a tightly held pencil a small imperceptible smile of confidence  Would it be ridiculous to splurge on both a new guitar and piano? The frilly white dress is hanging off the window sill in plain sight My hair is fresh, too damp from my longish shower  It's been 2 years since I wrote a song So if you nod now, I may take that to positively mean "no&q

1997 Sipping directly from a gigantic orange while in the backseat of the Jeep on the way to Abidjan 2000 Salivating over a box of mulberries in the Opel Corsa through the ghats on the way to Panchgani 2004 Stuffing myself with fresh Rabdi from a clay pot in the 2nd class sleeper train at Mount Abu station 2005 Snarfing down a quintessential NYC hot dog while admiring the Lady of Liberty on the Staten Island Ferry 2006 Sitting, mind simmering with steaming plastic containers of Gushtaba on my lap in the Shikara on Dal lake 2010 Sampling my first ever Starbucks gazing out of Star Ferry on the way to Tsim Sha Tsui 2011 Sharing a pack of Haldiram's Aloo Bhujiya on the bus to Mysore Palace 2013 Snacking on a Princessa candybar on the Polskibus to Krakow 2013 Satiating my appetite with some Boots meal deal sandwiches on the London Tube to Camden Town  2015 Scooping greedy bites of strawberry cheesecake icecream on a Ferry in Sydney's Circular Quay  2016 Snarfing down a magazine c

I inhale slow and deep Imagining the oxygen in the air grow heavy Heavy enough to dampen like a single lonely rain cloud Then lay a generous drop on my parched tongue Making waves with my arms every time I decide it's too cold  Or too hot Or when my own pulse is too loud in my ears Thinking about counting how long it would have been since I last saw sand Felt it beneath greedy soles succumbing into the gravity of the low tide 158 days  If my math is right  Since I wore shoes with socks Or heels with straps Held my hair to my ears during a windy morning auto rickshaw ride Sipped cheap, overly sweet tea from styrofoam cups Out of a whim From just finding a 10 rupee note from the bum pocket Rode an elevator with perfume and body odour both wafting Scents I can never place but were familiar as the wind itself Walked on a busy footpath on the side of incoming traffic Just for the thrill of it And get much more than I would like to seek 158 days since I crossed any road Seen the lazy yet

Where with a sea view and vows we started our nuptials full of joy and plenty of pale ale Now we slither into separate tiny cots in an oldage home forgotten with faceless nurses, the fabric of our skin, breadlike and stale Where once we would play online chess through bites of cheddar sandwiches, our unwashed selves hidden through the internet's comfortable veil Now we stand too close in this infirmary bath sharing soap, sliced through the middle, all thanks to your weirdly sharp big toenail Where being puzzled and brainstorming in the middle of an airport terminal: was it egg or chicken that came first and why the chicken crossed the road or was it rail Now we samba with fingers on the shared bedside table, my phalange chubbiness against your papery thumbs, until our eyes give unto sleep, surrender to fail Where it started sixty seven years ago with me checking you out and began to end fifty nine years later when you checked us into this jail Now every day is a Sunday repeated in

Abuzz and alight  Listening to the night  Tired but alive and so I decide to write Shall I suggest that you please mind my thought canopy Where ideas are microwaved rather than slow roasted, maybe not your fancy Where the imagination has an amazing line of credit with no extra fee Obsessive tongue cleaning, brushing with soft bristles while trying to be quiet The act of teeth brushing always significant, luxurious, full of bite It's the hours after dark when morning tasks somehow feel quite right Busied by nocturnal loveliness at the edge of the bed where I'm sat Watching the papaya tree, her branches distressed by the clutches of an awkwardly tiny baby bat Just how much damage could the little one do? I attempt to work out the math What's this life for, if not for questions that probe deep, that dare to seek? Contemplating the cons of a templatized week Amidst a depraved world with pouring news in varying degrees of bleak What a small existence is mine, castled in with all

When was the last time you allowed your own mind to think for itself? Should you? The mind is like a petri dish Delicate like the glass it's made from See through (at least to you) like it's transparent It's also completely open Until you choose to culture bacteria But in this case, your thoughts Your thoughts are like bacteria Some good for you, some bad enough to infect the good ones But it's up to you to mind that petri dish So no, you shouldn't. This morning I woke up at 5.41 AM  The first day of June  I woke to the ever sweet smell  of Petrichor Seeing puddles and very insistent drops falling steadfastly into them  The first rain of the year is the very first rain for so many baby birds Bird moms and dads talk about the first rain with gushes of excitement  Baby bird minds imagine delighting at pretty clear droplets falling down before ever seeing it I saw a video about how if you give an egg to a dog, they would be very careful not to crack or drop it Orphaned

I thought I saw a piece of chocolate on the ground "That's poop, no doubt" said my good old hound When he was a little 4 month old puppy, abandoned, he lay in a dirt mound My little Winnie, in a white plastic bag, with unimaginable cruelty was he bound If it wasn't for his plea, if it wasn't for that extraordinary sound  The words "Help me" would have been lost, in the city hubbub, they'd have drowned A happy day that was, for a forever home Winnie finally found I named him so, because he won our hearts, and was thus rightly crowned Talking dog or not, I couldn't have imagined a cooler, more loving family member around His best talent, however, went beyond his vocab, it's the speed at which food he downed After fourteen years of gorging mouthfuls of meat by the pound I trust his sense of smell and walk past that chocolate coloured poop, during our breezy afternoon round

I drew him a diagram Explaining the value I derived from being active on Instagram He said it was a total sham That so much of my time be devoted to content created by a phone's cam But I'm not in it for the glam  Whiningly I expressed, aching for a pop of diazepam 

Do you remember? Words were the first friend you made When you were on your own as a child of nine When reading time at boarding school was once a week in that Hogwarts-like library Your journey with words has been long and enduring From being a passive reader of them To a voracious writer of them Writing is embedded like a video on a page in your soul It’s up to you keep that video on autoplay, or mute, or to comment it out You can’t erase it though, try as you might It’s your burden to bear and prize to ply The desire to turn away from the ambiguity of authorship, or to wish for your vocabulary to shrink, these are all very escapist No one ever warns you or prepares you for the tsunami of words coming at you, coming from you You think you can be absolved of your art, But it’s that very art that keeps your head on your shoulders You know you can’t resist the seduction of it So go ahead, I’ve just filled up your Faber Castell with the blackest black ink that you lov

If this were a regular Sunday I know exactly where my whim would take me I’d not be living with trepidation Imagining I’m Corona positive Just because the Dunzo guy touched my hand for a milisecond If this were a regular Sunday I wouldn't be moping around with a permanent scowl It’s like ear wax in the ears of Robinson Crusoe Would he have asked his man Friday to fetch a twig? Maybe fashioned a earbud from soft yellow petals? If this were a regular Sunday I wouldn’t be obsessed with sketching eyes Filling in the eye balls Making sure that I leave a hole of white around the dark iris so the eyes look realistic I’m always enamoured by the symmetry of eyes How two things that never see eye to eye - literally - can be so aligned, alike, attuned… If this were a regular Sunday I wouldn't be marinating in last night's pyjamas till late afternoon Closing my eyes in the silence I wouldn't be concentrating long and hard Imagining I'm far away without a

There’s something about us this Sunday I can’t put my finger on it, But then again, I can’t put a finger on you You’re a few hundred kilometers away in your land-locked city You miss the sea breeze, you say Being so far apart Silences can be imagined Manifested from the lack of face-to-face I can sense your trepidation There is such an urgency to reunite I'm symmetric to you and we're on the same page Despite the distance, we manage to hold on to each other I write you 5 words off the top of my head And you weave me a sweet story

Some days, like today, as you wake up, you’re still asleep Seep induced lucidity stays till the very first sip of chai But then after the chai cup is rinsed After the slow Sunday shower is taken Somehow sleep, like a pesky pest, tries to sneak back in Sometimes in the linger of a blink a few seconds too long Or in the meditative reflection of staring at the "enter" key on your keyboard while the laptop fires up It’s always those few minutes before sleep, I find, that are the most delicious The randomness of theories only the confines of your own mind can comprehend On Sundays like these, I like to take a nap not around acceptable nap-times The more unusual the time, the better When you nap from 6 PM to 7 PM Or even 11 AM to 12 PM That’s when your mind really reveals itself to you through complex dreams, or indescribably deep, coma-like sleep

This time will be different When I take the elevator to go downstairs after work I’ll not linger on the street waiting for the auto There’s no need to rush Taking the long way home I’ll do the 15 minute walk When my dreams wake me up at 5.43 AM three days in a row I’ll stay up I’ll fight the laziness inside Grab my pink Reeboks that have been unworn for months I’ll do the morning jog alongside sleeping dogs When mom’s toothpaste is finally over I’ll replenish 2, instead of being forced to use the one I’ll relish the fluoride goodness of my Colgate And it will bother me no more that she presses on the top of the tube as I’ll be pressing down When I hear your voice change When it goes quiet like it used to I’ll go quiet too Fighting my stupid impulses I’ll finally find the strength to leave it alone When iTunes accidentally shuffles the Lockdown playlist I’ll smile with knowing I’ll think of all the insomnia, the longing, the restlessness And then I’ll hit &q

For the longest time I’m seeing blue I sleep facing the window I used to sleep facing the curtains But I flipped to the cooler side, where I can be right under the fan I happen to be right in front of a blue light I see it when I’m just about to doze off But it’s starting to feel like it sees me just the same I dream in black and white Because I have no memory of colour when I recall my dreams But off late my dreams are kaleidoscopic Maybe it’s because I’ve been sleeping in When the sunlight warms my eyelids Somehow when you have bright light over closed lids It looks like the colour blue And that’s how I dream the blue The days bleed into the next The nights blend into the next And I feel blue Seeing blue Dreaming blue Feeling blue And today I’m even wearing blue Blue has been a mood It’s been a song that I can’t stop singing A verse I can’t stop writing

Pen your plans on paper Push people outside your personal perimeter  Please prevent panic Percolate positivity through this pandemic Predict the passage of this peril Perfect and pour energy into a promising skill Peace will prevail with the power of prayer Stay poised despite the persistent pressure Practice patience and persevere Life is still beautiful with pain and pleasure Pages from our poignant past is a preview A peek into profound suffering mankind's been through Perhaps what keeps us from plundering Is knowing that this peculiar pest is perishing You are predisposed to go participate in this particular predicament Prudent is the person who prioritises proactive imprisonment Proclamations in print or in the press Will point you toward the path of distress Promoting self isolation isn't policed properly Private safety is pivotal so prepare for a casualty Pertaining to products, pouches and packages Preserve your pantry with prerequisites Pensively ponder your precious p

I was 12 years old and my family and I were on our trip to chilly Jammu to visit a temple up very high in the mountains.  I was afraid of the climb: the almost 10 kilometre hike up the mountain. So my parents put me on a horse to ascend to the very top. On the way up a particularly steep horse path, I happened to look back to see very dense darkness of a pine forest. It was beautiful, no doubt, but considering it was 12 noon and the rest of the landscape was sunny and bright, that one glance down was quite breathtaking in a thrilling way.  Almost instantly after I saw this dark forest foliage, the horse bent down low; a misstep that could have very easily cost me my life.  My heart started beating 10,000 beats per minute and I simply couldn't calm down. I couldn't say anything either as I was all on my own and I had to brave. I was a young girl alone in the mountains and I didn't want to draw any unwanted attention to myself. In another 15 minutes or so we reached the very

The moving light is heading to the still light From all the way up in the stratosphere my guess is that's a car and that's a home But the moving light doesn't stop at the still light The car doesn't go home The moving light is moving, still moving and then I don't see it anymore as my flight is moving much faster All this happens in less than one second It's enough to spark this idea that maybe the moving light doesn't need to stop moving And more importantly Why did it I want it to run perfectly and then stop and join and unite and meet the still light? Maybe the still light is happy to stay still The moving light is happy to keep moving till it decides it wants to be still Maybe the still light moved a lot too like the moving light did So then why am I wanting the moving light to collide with another moving light and come together to become one big light? Maybe that's how stars work too In the beginning there were two stars that collided into one big s

The Holdy is the ultimate smartphone accessory for you to maximize the comfort and enjoyment of your binge streaming sessions whether you're commuting, lounging in bed or working out at the gym. It's the only accessory that is fully adjustable for use regardless of whether you're sitting, standing or lying down. The Holdy is available in 4 colours: black, white, blue and red. The Cocoon  is an attachment to your Holdy  that is sold separately. It privatizes your mobile watching experience so there are no shoulder surfers catching you smile while you watch your favourite on-screen couple hold hands for the first time.  

I know what song that smell is The second I get a sniff, it takes me back to that beat I can hear it resounding in my very bones A connection too profound to discern And to go off and reverse the gears: Should there be a Shazam for scents Perfumes would sell more than they do Not knowing what the scent is that triggered the full blown musical in your head is frustrating Does "within the hour" mean before that specific hour ends or within sixty minutes? Or names that end with the letter "R"? Does "bi-weekly" mean every 2 weeks or twice a week? Or an Indian maid that comes in weekly? If I like the sunset more than the sunrise does that mean I like sitting down more than getting back up? When you find purple bruises on your body it's such a revealing moment because you realize your body is so vast and there is so much buzzing activity - heart being pumped; uterian lining being shed; a follicle under your chin sprouting out a tiny peep of hair. Your body d

Give Give into me I am darkness I am where the unexpected lives I am also where you archive things Things you thought you'd move on from Things you knew you could revisit later Take Take from me what you must I'll share the thoughts that tickle you I'll share your favourite stashes of hoarded emotion I'll share the stuff that makes you smile in a sad way Stuff you felt you never needed but want anyway Stuff you got to have, compulsively, unhealthily Bring Bring me what I like I like things I like stuff too I like things and stuff of my own, believe it or not Things and stuff that I think I want Things and stuff that I know I need