Places

Bombay / Mumbai , India

Bombay / Mumbai , India

« I prefer to use the older name, ‘Bombay,' as it symbolizes the inclusive and cosmopolitan character of my city. »  —Ranjit Hoskote

When Prime Minister Indira Gandhi asked India’s first cosmonaut, Rakesh Sharma, at a video conference in April 1984, how India looked from space, he replied without missing a beat: “Saare jahan se achcha.” Every...

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The classical is a name we give to the hybridity we have forgotten. Its seemingly unassailable guarantees of a pure identity, homogenous culture and continuity with an idyllic past conceal the turbulences that...

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Unveiling their shine on the cerulean sheet now pitch-dark,

radiant studs, rhombus-shaped compete with beauty


of bicephalous. When the orgulous are on a night out


in their best bib and tucker...

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Plurality isn’t enough to tickle you pink.
I’ve shared magical, misty evenings
with endless seekers via somatic unguents
but not unlimited with the one I wanted,
certainly not when I was a louse...

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Alpenglow on your cheeks constellate me


to our cosmos, quickening in this heliolater


of calentures that never convalesced. Lost


in its energy, I continue bird-dogging protocols


for...

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I am the creature that country clichés often mention—
the city animal.

This restless wonderment
at my inability to harness nature in my poetry
is a distant thought now,
overwritten by...

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After the drill of social punctilios, when curtains are drawn, the blah
blah of bovarism lies peeled in hearts willing to eavesdrop on themselves.
Therapy of truth unveils its secrets: we know our...

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Metaphors could line the back alleys
of distraught kingdoms,
casting rebels,
buzzing like bees,
around intrusive hornets,
breaking out to bigger nests;
productive unrest,
...

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Students of Sanskrit will recognise, in Kalyana Malla, the author of the erotic manual, Ananga Ranga. Since Sanskrit authors are not often situated, at least not to general readers, in a specific time and place—they...

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He was first a snake and was in love with her - a she-snake. And then he molted and after he molted he was a turtle and he met another she-turtle and fell in love with her. When he de- shelled after years, he became a...
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I sit here, listening to an orchestra.

They are playing the Banjos of ingenuity,

and far from where I am, is a symposium

of wise men, sitting on the struggle
of the common American –...

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My father was the quietest man; his few words made no sense

in the world’s idiom.

Saddled into a marriage

astride a dead horse of tradition he flogged it too many times

for two...

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