Where are you from?

We trade origin stories like bus routes-
a town mentioned in passing,
a silent count of how many schools
we went to before high school.

No dramatic reveal,
no long speeches about home.
Just the quiet knowing of someone
who can pack a room in two boxes
and start over by monday.
The kid who lands in any town
and feels at home by lunch.

Always moving by design-
everywhere is home,
so no place is.

No goodbyes-
just a quick “see you” in the hallway.
Unkept promises of writing.
Addresses change before letters arrive.

Roads over destinations
movement itself the point.
You don’t look for roots
when you have learnt to live on momentum.

Not a home to claim,
just a shared reflex
of making new rooms work.

You don’t need a place
when you can find your people anywhere.
Maybe that’s the best thing about KV-
never rooted, never alone.

Nothing was forced

It starts with a reasonable presentation.

A room full of smart people nodding

trading the friction of real life

for a polished, unified system.

The pitch is clean

Breakthrough.

Upgrade.

An exclusive return to the truth.

So you sign the quiet contract.

You adopt the new dialect,

trim down the edge cases of your identity,

and mistake total control for alignment.

Inside the perimeter, the metrics are pristine.

Dissent is not banned - it is just inefficient.

A leader who speaks only in absolute truths

and promises that the complexity has finally been solved.

And slowly, without any violence

you realize you have not had a thought of your own in months

because you bought the efficiency of being told who to be.

Beneath sacred roofs and office ceilings

every institution is tempted to convince ordinary people

that surrender is another word for belonging.

The hours we gave away

The strange thing about working is how quickly your calendar can replace your life.

Days flatten into blocks of colour, 
hours renamed into obligations,
and suddenly free time feels like a meeting
you forgot to schedule.

You begin to measure yourself in deliverables,
in response times,
in the quiet pride of being available.

Until one day,
even your thoughts arrive in bullet points.

One day when the calendar is empty,

You try to remember who you were before someone started sending the meeting invitations. 

My real life pensieve

This blog is my real life pensieve (full disclosure: I am something of a Harry Potter aficionado. I shall try and keep the nerdiness in control).

Over the last twenty four hours, I have read and re-read every single blogpost and comment. And re-lived the last decade or so. A lot of firsts there. My first job. My first salary. My first work related travel. Some poetry. A few I-can’t-believe-I-still-do-that moments.
And before this starts to look like the final episode of an etched out drama from the Balaji Telefilm stables, with a re-hash of all happy ocassions and joyous moments, I will move on.

I think this blog has become an e-journal of sorts - me posting random junk from everyday life and my friends Apar, Swe, Siri, Shuba, Sriram and Ramya providing a running commentary on how it is to be me. Man, I was funny. A little juvenile too. And spelling challenged sometimes. And, do I know how to crib.
In a lot of ways I am still the same person, except for the extra pounds I have added to my frame. A little bit goofy, a little bit funny. A tad sentimental.
I know all this sounds like a speech you give after you have won a lifetime achievement award. Thirteen years does seem like one though!

So basically what I meant to say was - this blast from the past has been fun. And is motivation enough to blog and then some more.

And I am back!

I am back. After two years.
And this is my hundredth post by the way. Drum roll please.

Hundred posts in thirteen years. 11 years of gainful employment. 2 employers. 5 continents. Numerous holidays including Appa Amma’s first visit to the US last year (yes. That is a milestone in itself. You do not know my parents!). A hazaar reruns of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and Burn Notice ( I am obsessed with that show - it’s the idiot box equivalent of my literary obsession with the Sherlock Holmes collection.) Numerous endeavors to move away from those dangly earrings (all attempts to nail the whole “adult” thing)and every single one of them unsuccessful. What a pity that there are no replacement patches for this craving for aural embellishments . The struggle is real.

So is the struggle for finding something novel and interesting to write about - equal parts everyday drama and quirky humor. (Did we just get this blog’s theme right?!)

I promise to blog this year. Consistently. And did I say Happy New Year!!

Sound of Silence

Is it silent for the want of anything interesting

and Me giving up, in dreary tedium?

Or things becoming overwhelmingly interesting

that I had to give myself an e-break to soak-in.

Maybe I am too wrapped up in myself to notice a thing

that's the worst - the unfeeling feeling!

The Prize Catch

I saw him,

Clearly through the haze.

A smile on his parched lips,

Sweat dripping off his eyebrow,

A shroud adorning his broad shoulder.

I fell in love with him there

And sought him as he sped away in his boat.

I swam the deep waters,

Staying close to him.

Aching to catch another sight of him,

Another whiff of him.

Did I hallucinate or did he really see me?

My heart skipped a beat

As he came across, to have a look.

I moved towards him,

I was in a daze, goose-bumps all over me.

He bent down and a wave of doubts plagued me.

Did he not desire me?

Was there someone else waiting for him?

And then, he came up.

That half minute was the longest thirty seconds of my life.

He threw his cloak towards me,

It engulfed me and I was beyond all worldly happiness.

A lover’s first gift to his lady.

And then he drew me towards him.

And I swam eagerly,

Not wanting to delay the moment when we would first meet

And he would take me in his arms.

He pulled me out of water impatiently,

The wait being intolerably long for both us.

I thought I would die before he would lay his hands on me,

But I didn’t.

The first touch was brief and I died a hundred times.

And then, he tossed me over to the side.

The prize catch, he called me.