kitsch poetry.

generally worthless creations of mine
products of evidenceproject deadline
and vidyullatha's scintillating environmental law class
respectively

as will be evident - blank verse it is. the narrative in the second one may seem a bit warped at the start but stare at the first few lines very hard and things should generally work themselves out.

even if you hate my poetry do check out the links at the bottom of this posting. they will be well worth your while.

siddharth.

Malleshwaram Morning.

Sharp morning breeze tickling the edges of his nostrils,

a rather pleasing effect;

air not choked with pollution, methanebutane, whatever

yet

early risers stare groggily out of their windows verandahs with coffee cups newspapers,

all under one broad category of ‘rumpledmorning breath men waiting for dosa’

despite the many roles they will fit into an hour from now.

govind the mikman is proud of this one rather clever observation of his.

Stray dogs scrounge around near the dustbins nosing around

rotting food broken dolls tin cans old shoes

and even one maala with photoframe and photo still attached.

and now riding past #46-B where he sometimes sees mrs. shenoy standing on the porch drying her hair,

govind thinks shes extraordinarily beautiful.

Once as he was riding by she suddenly started waving at him

so he gives her Bright Smile and realises that she was actually waving at her alsation to go and pee outside mr. chandrans gate and not hers.

bloodybastardfellow so he says to the dog contemptuously; a line Upendra had used in latest movie Violent Hero, nice movie, govind thought.

and here comes shankar, the newspaper man, riding in the opposite direction

with whom govind has fallen out ever since he found out that shankar was hitting on

little sister pushpa,

so he nicely beat up shankar and married off pushpa

- stupid girl actually wanted to marry the newspaper man what is that? -

to some nice fellow who said he ran Womens Hostel, something like that in bombay. rich fellow, he came in car and all.

govind still hasn’t heard from pushpa but that is ok he’s sure she is fine and all.

time for last stop, mr. sethi who still prefers fresh milk to nandiniOperationFlood,

here he is, standing with jug and toothbrush.

abbe, kitne paani dalte ho? he mumbles as govind pours out the milk

no more than krishna, raj, hegde or even nandinioperationflood does, he wants to say.

instead he just gives customary sheepish grin and no answer.

sethi asks the same question everyday so its ok

fat fool.

anyway he has no other option – no one else will sell milk on this road – Natesh anna will see to that.

and here is mr. rajgopal’s son driving back home at six in the morning

- hello saab! -

after doing full night party whatever.

Loafer Fellow.

but now that govind has finished his rounds it is time - goodgood - for

his customary beedi (ganesh)

a stop at seenu’s shop before going to the factory.

so he will cycle quickly towards seenu’s - But hellohello what is that advancing rather quickly from the opposite direction?

looks rather like a runaway elephant

from nearby mandir

he barely has time to think before the greyness is On him.

A Day in the Life

Dear Diary, today I write you a poem

About frustration, despair and whatnot.

Ramblings.

(by Kalpesh Dubey)

‘O bird! You fly so free!

Over canopy so evergreen,

O bird! Why don’t you carry me!

And make my life a Dream!’

Ok now that bastard Gopal is reading this and laughing on me man,

What his problem is

I do not know.

Anyway.

Today I went to Pulkit’s daddy’s friend’s office

Big lawyer Bhumesh Kumar Dalmia.

For job, then what?

He listend to me for about two minutes

Then he is saying something in very nice english

About Pulkit’s daddy, last weeks

Cricket match, something something.

When I said sir can i have job he said

something and all about CONTINGENTSY.

Which means No, that is what.

I left that idiot Gopal’s (cellphone) number with secretary,

Just in case.

The chai was very good man.

Now that bastardgopal is saying some nonsense

About hanging himself from the fan

-He also does not have job, he is B.A. pass only-

That stupid is piss drunk again.

If he dies I will have to pay full rent

Plus he will damage fan also surely.

I better stop him.

*

(fin)

ya well, a couple of people who read my poems were kind enough to draw a certain parallel between my work(!) and Nissim Ezekiel's Very Indian poems

as a discliamer i would like to state that i have in no way attempted to copy the aforementioned style

(independently of what ahs been stated above) Mr. Ezekiel's creations are simply wonderful. if you can , do get your hands on one of his poems titled 'soap' [doesnt seem to be readily available on the net]. also (more than) rather notable are Goodbye Party for Miss Pushpa T. S. (and) The Night of the Scorpion.

Please do check them out.

(i am somehow unable to undo 'bold'-ing option. kindly excuse)