Monday, June 19


Early today morning
as i woke up to the languid slowness of a day
that promised to be half cloudy, half sunny.
The hushed lovemaking of the pigeons,
the noise of a broom sweeping a coarse floor,
the simmer of milk on the kitchen slab,
life around me.
And then all of a sudden
the idea of my death amused me.
a silent going away of 3 decades of life
stillness of hopes & desires
also sweat and grime
failings & hurt
also agony & pain
and after the last of me
is sprinkled from a copper urn
for an unholy union
in the holy river by shriveled,
trembling hands that belongs to a man
who was awaiting his own date with death

what will my roommate
friend of 7 years think
when she wakes up next morning
to see the slump in the adjoining bed
Of my resting back
Will she crease the untidy folds
Of memory stained sheets,
For another inhabitant?

What will the woman
Living in a small town
By the same holy river,
Shed lonely tears of despair.
Her life now free
Of years of waiting near the phone
And reading cryptic sms
Of strange well being.
Her desperate pain
Weep, for the hands that were
Never smeared by
Bride red mehndi
matched only by an old man’s
misery that he will drown
in the national news
loud, blaring, sensational reporters
bringing fresh
despair, agony, death
till his innards are numbed

And the brother
Who sells painted
Rainbows to little children
To meet the demands
Of his 9 to 6 existence
Would again rise to the occasion
A boy made man too quickly
Against his own wishes
He will shed lonely tears
In the dark
of a sweat soaked bedroom,
For a childhood mate
Who died unplanned
Like always

And a sister
Who wipes tears
Of those not as fortunate
To die young and missed
In a sea swept town
She would spawn hate
Spit venom, negate grief
And sob
Her whole body shaking in
Violent paroxysm

And he, who shared
a slice of me
Who could put his fingers
On every dark line
Under the tired eyes
And tell my day
Fatigue from anger
Anger from fatigue
He would fold parts of my memory
Squabbles & Longings
Joys & Smiles
Love & Fear
All in a white muslin cloth
And keep in his heart
Smug with Napthene balls

What happens when there is no I?
What happens to every bit of me
Labored through the years
Things. Thoughts. Opinions.
Do I live through others
Guest in their memories
In dark bedrooms,
Violent paroxysms
Muslin clothes.
Live through scraps of life
Doled by others.


shikha said...

Life moves on...

after all we are just specks and sparks on this vast landscape of life..and others will occupy the same time and space..that we do now!:)

shikha said...

and yes..I am glad to see a new post so soon...

Anonymous said...

hey, this is hauntingly beautiful. i strongly feel that you should deleted the last para.
somehow i loved the brother and mother bit best, also of course the whole tired eyes, anger, fatigue ensemble.
keep it up babe, genuinely good work.

Ajit Chouhan said...

Hey I can only see the real faces of the characters .Since I've seen them all ,it was tough for me to focus on the words.....

You are getting too serious Suchika....let's hope I get to read something light next time.

Tension ho gaya :Ghar ka yaad aane lagta hai ye sab paadh ke.

Raps said...

nature never tolerates vacuum... it fills the space somehow but it gets filled. Maybe with pangs of hunger or sleep at the most inopportune moment to make you realise the show must go on. That's the reason life is called a river. But hey, are you thinking of death to understand life? Just a thought.

shuchika said...

thanks shikha.thanks swati.

ajit, i know i got bleak with this one but it wasnt intended.

and i am not a happy writer, but trust me i am a happy person. i guess i let my intensity flow in my scribbles and deal with life better.

Raps, death scares me, its like a dark bottomless pit, or a dream where you saw everyone and everything you loved out of our reach.

To me, death doesnt feel like a ceasing or fullstop of oneself. It feels like a fullstop to the things you did , the people you met, the life you lived. Like living in a chemical solution in a dusty bottle in an airless lab and view life around you from a bottle.

The desire to live after death scares me.

It's like life's rudest jolt to get your act together, nature's last slap.

i want to get comfortable with the idea of death.

geminijesus said...

No comments .....
There are so many threads joining all of us , here in this blog all the comments somehow I feel a share a part of your life , could be the innocent Kid you were , may the gloomy writer u r , may be an intellectual you claim or just a cute sister which I feel
Isnt it suprising
For us its Ok it s a coincidence that we are bonded but how about the others
Your articles/Poems are meditation to be for however hard I try I just can't have one feelin , they are always mixed .....anger , love, affection , compassion ...
I don't know it makes things clearer for me or makes me more confused
Together we will find it one day

shuchika said...


ur comment made me go thru mixed feelings too.
anger, love,affection,compassion...
felt like picking up the phone and talking.
felt like taking a cab and running down to pune
Felt like spending a rainy weekend full of wisecracks at a father we share, and the cross we bear.
felt like calling you a bastard on the dig at my ( lack of )intellectualisn.
felt like conning you into buying another expensive perfume.
felt like a thousand things that "we" only we do.



J. Alfred Prufrock said...



Ajit Chouhan said...

Just finished reading "Tuesday with Morrie".

Somehow i was reminded of your post while reading the book.

Do read it.

shikha said...

Shuchika....Were is "that" post!

White Magpie said...

Get up and write something more. Dont sloth. Is criminal to deprive your readers when you write so well.

progga said...

need a favor: do you have the house agent, amit singh's number? the guy who got you and priya your bandra house? need it for a friend who's moving to bombay...
thanks, babe.

shuchika said...

progga, cant seem to find the number, let me see if i can ask someone and get it for you.

Anonymous said...

that was a good one

progga said...

thanks, that'll be great, if you can get it.

The One said...

Time to write Sweetie- you been tagged!

sanjay jha said...


Anonymous said...

u stuff really seems to be full of anger , jealosly and element of ... i realay cant say ..... u do act intelligent ... but u are too much ..... why not go for lilltle treament of SPA