23 Jul 2016

Let This Winter Linger

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry | 1:28am

he just frowned
or smiled
it was unclear

when she asked
how the winters,
ten and more,
had passed

her fingers,
still as slender,
curled into the handle
of the coffee mug.
his fingers ached

she asked again,
now smiling,
about the winters

would those lips
taste of coffee
or of the sweet longing
of all those years
he won't know

in this winter of life
what tales could he have
of those winters, 
without her, lifeless

so he just frowned
or maybe he smiled
it was unclear

but then life
etches its tales
on your face
in wrinkles fine

and each wrinkle
hid a tale
that he will -
when all light fades -
whisper to her
in silence

7 Jul 2016

The Evening Song

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry & El Eye Ef Ee | 3:44pm

i hugged a tree.
on my fingers
a butterfly perched briefly
and then it flew

fly away it did,
i thought

with its tender wings
it flew, and flew more
across the seas
and thousand miles

the hour was quiet
in those woods deep

it found the tree
that she was hugging
and, it then kissed
her svelte, gentle fingers

oh, and in my heart
i felt a flutter

30 Jun 2016


Posted by Oblivion in Poetry & El Eye Ef Ee | 12:46pm

crimson dusk fades slowly
as the dying murmur
of the restless waves

a gentle breeze from afar
ruffles my hair
i think it's her loving fingers

as the breeze leaves me
my heart flies off, too,
along with her

the clouds are gathering
blurring the distance
and i smell the rain

on these feeble sands
my infirm feet tiptoe
and my fingertips dance

19 Apr 2016

Clipped Wings

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry | 8:33pm

of the shade burlesque
awake in mute gray
the walls won’t talk
and she can’t hear

ripped from time
he lay still, cold
as a buried dream
unmoved by her tears

she caresses his toes
they tickle no more
a silence so haunting
fate’s cruel laughter!

“dad, where have you gone?”
she whispers, almost
but then, life is so
a vile trick of time

when she was born
his life became fuller
and in his death
her life now, lighter

“what is this, dad”?
she asked, in a moment past
pointing at the title
of a book he loved

without his saying a word
she now understands
what it means:
“the unbearable lightness of being”


2 Mar 2016


Posted by Oblivion in Management | 12:46pm

As if it’s a golden rule, we blindly associate strategy with success. So much so that we don’t even acknowledge that those who fail have strategies too. Strategy has nothing to do with success or failure; it’s a mere plan, a wish. Nothing more. You can have an impeccable strategy and yet lose, or a loose one and yet win. You are playing a game with many loose ends, and not pushing a ball into a visible hole.

You will rather smirk at this if you are a successful executive leading a unicorn. For you don’t want the world to know you are being paid millions for just playing dice. This doesn’t have to be so. Take credit for the move (which is, no doubt, a function of intelligence), but not for what shows up on the dice.


11 Feb 2016

Strangers and Lovers

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry | 3:29pm

from the table afar
beckoned by a brief glance
she smiled at him;
a moment so joyful
it effaced all time,
all the years
and every minute
they parted for

a fate so cruel
they part every time
if they meet as lovers;
a destiny so kind
their paths cross
as if bound to,
if strangers
they pretend to be

so they vowed
in whispers quiet,
silent and unspoken,
that they shall
meet as strangers
so familiar
they need not utter a word

but yet
she was afraid
if he has brought along
the past –
a bittersweet secret
that only they
(she and he) know

but his hands were bare
bare as the agony
of a longing
that still burns,
a longing
that they never let
to their fingertips
or the unkissed lips

at midnight hour
the day before
he walked through
the stooping corridors
of time
through the burlesque
labyrinths of memory
through the crumbling
walls of dreams
and hurled
into the deepest woods
that precious secret

at dawn
as it lay frozen
in a stray nest
a squirrel stopped by
and ate it fine
the restless eagle
finished the remains

so his hands were bare
he doesn’t need carry
the weight
of the time gone by
he can now see it all
in her eyes
which, with one glance,
melt both
the dreams that were
treasured in the past
and memories
of this evening
he will take to the grave

he smiled, too
but said not a word
for, what if
it will, yet again,
invite the wrath
of the brutish fate

she stood up
and briskly walked out
before even her fragrance
could waft along
his bearded cheeks

minutes later
as the fumes
of unshared coffee
felt the two empty chairs
all one could hear
was the deep sigh
of two hearts
that belong


11 Feb 2016

Thought-less Mortals

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry | 3:26pm

makes love
to memory
and a thought is born

consensual and timeless
is their act

when they have an orgasm
the baby becomes an idea
that surmounts
sibling rivalry
and stands the test of time

when climax is feeble
the baby, blind,
becomes an ideal
that drags his brothers all
into killing fields

the two inseparable
lovers never marry
the children are born
out of wedlock

a few you abandon
some you abort
and some you rear
and those you rear –
they, in turn,
rear you!


11 Feb 2016

Six Degrees

Posted by Oblivion in Philosophy & Design / Typography | 3:21pm

Six Degrees

26 Jan 2016

2 + 2

Posted by Oblivion in Design / Typography | 2:29pm


19 Jan 2016

Let Me Fly

Posted by Oblivion in Poetry & Design / Typography | 3:19pm

Let Me Fly

1 Jan 2016

Two Zero One Six

Posted by Oblivion in El Eye Ef Ee | 12:27pm

New Year

25 Dec 2015

30 / 30

Posted by Oblivion in El Eye Ef Ee | 12:16am

My list* of 30 for the 30 years ending 2015.

Filmmaker: Ram Gopal Varma
Film: Nayakan; Piravi
Composer: Ilaiyaraja
Instrumental album: Nothing But Wind
Background score: Geetanjali / Ilaiyaraja
Cinematographer: A K Bir
Song composition (for film): Ninnu kori varnam / Agni Nachatiram
Actor: Amitabh Bachchan
Lyricist: Seetaramasastri; Veturi
Economist: Raghuram Rajan
Journalist: P Sainath
Editor: Vinod Mehta
Newsmagazine: The Illustrated Weekly of India
Newspaper: The Hindu
City: Varanasi
Beach: Kasargod
Forest: Talakona
Writer: Amitav Ghosh
Poet: Gulzar
Book: A Home in Tibet
Publisher: David Davidar
National integration number: Mile sur mera tumhara
Batsman (cricket): Sachin, The Tendulkar
Bowler: Anil Kumble
Captain: Sourav Ganguly
Television series: Jeevan rekha
Theme score (television): Jeevan rekha / Vanraj Bhatia
Pilgrimage destination: Sarnath
Retreat: Rishi Valley
President: Abdul Kalam

*confined to India


17 Dec 2015

Dumb Charades

Posted by Oblivion in Philosophy & El Eye Ef Ee | 7:02pm

Gustav: What’s down?
Meursault: (drooping) Well…

– Pause –

Gustav: Yeah?
Meursault: I think I will not find answers to any questions.

– Pause –

Meursault: EVER!
Gustav: Maybe there are none!
Meursault: Is that why one can find any answer that fits?
Gustav: Yes.

– Pause –

Gustav: Come over. Join me for a drink.

(sound of the gentle fountain, and footsteps)

Meursault: What happens when you put Sisyphus in a management classroom?
Gustav: Sisyphus changes.
Meursault: No! Only, the boulder becomes heavier. As a consequence, he must roll it up faster!

(the clang of glasses)

Dumb charades


30 Nov 2015


Posted by Oblivion in Design / Typography | 5:41pm

Waiting for Godot

22 Oct 2015


Posted by Oblivion in Design / Typography | 11:49pm


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