Kamna's Blog

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