Monday, 16 May 2011

Arathi Menon's BLOG 

words, whiskey and other randomness 

v.k. arathi menon. mumbai. wordsmith. traveller. single malt lover. book devourer. humour seeker. sometimes humble pie eater. connect at


The weather in my heart
Is a sombre blue today
Where half-hearted clouds
Have drizzled butterfly wings
Drenching the ladybug’s
Tea party.
There’s a lazy, cosy feel
To this greyness, where a fog
Hangs, almost, thin and still
Awaiting steaming cups of tea
Spiked by battered ginger.


Deliciously spoiled and delicately imbalanced
You said, “We’ll always be together”
I raised a skeptical eyebrow
And slipped on my clothes.
You refused to get out of bed
With freshly fucked joy
You drawled, “See you in the evening”
I slipped on my shoes silently.
Before I could turn the door knob
I heard your gentle snores
I took one last look and knew
I’d never be back.
For amidst kisses, ear nibbles and ankle worship
I realized
You didn’t love me.
You just hated being single.


I am a toenail
Short and dead
At the tips of toes
I lie mostly forgotten
Unless it’s time
For my beheading.
Snip. Snap.
Sometimes an eye
Spots my ugliness
Then using file and nail
It fashions my squareness
Into little, round moons.
The eye even hates my colour
It picks up gaudy reds and greens and pinks
And with a single sweep of a brush
My cosmetic surgery is complete.
I have no girl friends, friends or lovers
I travel solo
Mostly in garbage bags
Sometimes, if lucky
A witch finds me
And then I make friends
With bat’s wings and lizard ends.
I am a toenail
My soul is a dead cell
But hundred of years from now
The living will perish
And I will remain immortal
Immortally dead.

Plan B

Garden. Kids. Work that’s meaningful. Beatle. Happiness. Social work. Ocean with real sand (Unlike Bombay shores). Fish fry every single (Can I say fucking?) day. Friends you don’t need ‘to make’. Dog. Cat. Dogs. Cats. Wooden bookshelves filled with well-thumbed books. Soulmate / Sexmate – the two-in-one not imported from Dubai. Food that makes you think of food. Parents at walking distance. Best friends a club away. A house in which you’d be happy to die in. Travel – random, undiscovered, continuous. People who get your jokes. Intersections with brilliance. Akshayapatra , the never ending source of …. single malt. Euthanasia – so the minute you have a terminal disease, everything is a celebration and when you can’t take it anymore, sweet morphine, thank you.

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