let the music play - my goa trip!

the scalding beach sand, flaming sun bouncing off the pale blue Arabian waters, thatched shacks...ice cold breezer... solitude in crowd... these little moments....Life served Large!

Province.....may the party to bring in 2007, rock!!!

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

remember, remember, 5th of november!

Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper,
You prisoner, and shine! - Shine on You Crazy Diamond, Floyd

As close to first crush, as I dare call it! If a nine year old is capable of a thing called “crush”! He was one of my real get away from all things mundane. Others, being spinning of yarns and chasing sparrows and ants!
The reminiscing me!
Everything else was fairly mundane. Mundane not in harmonious way, mundane of a family, which comes, from being under threat of being impoverished entirely. Mundane, which arises out of necessity of, economizing everything, from finances to playtime activities to words. The insipid lifestyle, which heavily borrows from the reality of being a refugee in one’s own ancestral country, is not really a fertile soil to tend young minds. But, hey, this isn’t a complain log! In fact, there really isn’t anything to complain of, perspectives, you see!
I do digress, a lot, don’t I? *smile* guilty as charged!
My very first memory of him dates back to times, when he used to whoop up the frail lil me, in the air! And, get those “Morton” Toffees for me! Quite hazy, though!
He would come home once in a while! Have a blast for a while and good byes! Never an overnight stay. Maybe, it wasn’t allowed at his place. Maybe, he had other things to do. All the insistence of mom and dad wouldn’t make him stay.
Slowly, I began to be treated more on an equal stands. Toffees would still be part of the deal. But no more air throws. No more hold my hand and cross the streets. He would talk to me like grown ups. I was the only one to be treated to his guitar strumming and the Kurt Cobainish voice. Though, even my toddler mind thought he was better at drums then the strings.
Eventually, it came to a point that I began waiting for his visits and would pick up the best of the three frocks for those visits.
The visits increased in frequency. I was proud of the fact. Proud, that he talked to me the things he said, he wouldn’t share with lots of people! Proud, that this increase in frequency maybe had something to do with me. Proud, also of the fact, that I was one of the closet to him.
So, by the time, I was 10 years old, i knew in my heart of hearts that he is the kind of person, I am very comfortable with. My shyness would just bunk at the mere sight of him. He would compliment me profusely on everything. Treat me like a friend!
Does a 11 year old know what it is to be treated with a respect and love and like a woman? I don’t really know. Maybe, all of us innately know and react accordingly! Maybe, its too genetically engineered to even try and find the meanings.
And, then slowly, he got busy building a life and standing for himself. Settling down as they call it!
By the time, I celebrated my 14th birthday. Our association trickled to occasional phone calls or news from other relatives.. etc.

Then he got married! I grew up. Family grew up. With different set of priorities encroached my teenage and early 20s. We couldn’t even make for his wedding. He did get his wife to meet us. Nice girl. Somehow, I couldn’t really relate to him anymore. The talks were no more there. Mere polite weather kind conversations.
And, no, I didn’t find myself, heart broken or any thing dramatic like that. In fact, there was just no remorse. Just nothing. Not even as much as hindsight.
And, one day, he shows up generally. We happen to be alone in the living room for good 10 minutes. The words, “it was so different back then…” and the wistful (???) look still reverberate in these memory halls.
Ah well, one off incident, isn’t the valley of life, so full of such shrubs?
Pan out! Fade off!
Cut to 2002, a day after my birthday. I get a fax at work saying:
“He was shot from point blank range over a work related dispute!”
My first thoughts are: Oh my god, he has a three year old daughter!!
Someday, we might get a chance to complete those unfinished sentences. The one off shrub could have been a tree. Maybe. Maybe Not! However, for now, a very happy birthday!
And, nope… I never shed a tear for you. I wouldn’t!

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

skein of solitude

Dimmed heart
Illuminated house

Quiescent evenings
Stirring nights

A conundrum, to contemplate
A squall unimpeded
Abode, beyond the breeze

Comatose wanderer
This heart of mine
Fleets in and out of
Incurable urge
To touch and go

Oblivious to summons
Unmindful of sensible
Tipsy without a drop
Don’t think, Can stop…

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

whispering wind

Lost angel of a ruined paradise!
She knew not 'twas her own,--as with no stain
She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain. 
-Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), Adonais  
Nyah ssss (the name always sounded special coming from him), what if… umm, hypothetically…I say, I love you”… and the question suspended like the cold air…

The response: “…..umm…”

“What if, I say… that it’s not exactly… hypothetical??”

A lilting deep baritone of the voice...and, the limbo of the cold suspended air, just received a sizzle and metamorphoses into mist.

“And, have I told you? That… you look impossibly beautiful in a soft light”

Just a skosh of seconds ago, she was happily chatting with him. The night ringing, with the sigma of their laughter; exchanging the most nonsensical jokes under the sun (or moon!)

He sure does spring surprises.

Another split second later, the composure regained… the threads of friends’ nonsense, began being spun in another one of those marathon cellphone sessions.

The loose ends of the steam still in Brownian motion.

The soft white lights still playing shadows here and Bertie Higgins crooning “Casablanca” in repeat there.

While the statements were being ignored and the friendly appearances maintained… the proverbial loose ends were spinning their own yarn. In the meanwhile two different story boards were being prepped up. Discussed and designed. With two other different characters.

Why? Because, that’s how operas of life are rendered. Because, the adit to this mine was one way. Because, they began the association of “acquaintanceship” with “complications” in place, of course, they were not viewed such then.

Little did she know that, not all meetings are by chance. That coincidence is not really an incidental phenomenon. And, he convinced himself, “this” was too good to be true.

So, not the kiss that could go on for ever neither the look that made love nor the conversation that fulfilled; could sway either one of them to commit.

Honest to oneself? A little too attached? When does the warmth of the fire turn into a smoldering excitement? And, when does this exhilaration begin to burn? The line, darling, is too flimsy to be seen, much less, taken into account. However....
...at the behest of the dreamy effect that it had, the story was left unfinished, untold…

After all, it indeed WAS too good to be true!

Footnote: Innocence scorched by its own vulnerability…the intrepid efforts to hide the hurt, flowing from the eyes is met with a rebellion, as one and then another disobedient drops roll down. And, before you know, the dam is violated…

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

something about night

Now smoked, now entagled...
oh, how the lunar manuvers
at play with both,
clouds n pine covers...
The slow swim, an easy glide...
The fiesta of the night ride

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

lunar meandrings, solar seance

Wished on the moon
Kissed the daybreak
Conceived the dew drops…

Sheets of flowers
Over the rocky roads

There, the sun peeps
through the mirrors
of the pine leaves

Rising woods
Sing a long
Rolling mist

Deceived a little
Played hide and seek
With the dreams

Patches of…
fragmented moment
Woven in tapestry of age

How can one choose??
Flying away with the wind
Or swinging on the clouds??

Ink of my quest, fill the
Spaces of the rejoinders

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

my own love song

vermillion washed sky
bidding adieu…
bewildered void
your incidence in my days
un composed music drifts on
this wasteland… home
for a while
middle of no where
summoning joy
for a while
the shades of ink blue
fill the vision
sometimes you invent
sometimes, just vent...

Sleep, I would
If you bless my dreams
Laugh, I would
If you exalt my whispers

Smuggled you in my reverie
Salsa steps…Cinderella ball
Rustling silk
Fragrant breaths… Frayed feel

And the midnight never strikes…

Copyright © Neerja Yadav


He grew up with it. It used to scare him, scare the living daylights… he wanted to be able to go out and play, but he dared not… He looked, talked and slept, normal; and as clich├ęd as it sounds, looks ARE deceptive; he was not normal! And, ma never told him that?? He was quite an upset figure, cross with himself, cross with ma, for keeping such an important (maybe, a little special??) fact from him! He had to discover it, accidentally.

Oh, he was so mistaken, ma didn’t know it herself. He tried asking her first and then telling her about it. Ah, all in vain… everything was put down as the resultant talks of functions of his 10 year old hyper active brains.

And, a perfectly normal brat turned a lonely child overnight. He did not have a name for it. But, he was careful of what crossed his brains. Careful!! Very careful! Fighting a battle with his, own mind. An idea crossed his mind and the abstracts were no more abstracts. Crystallizing, right before his eyes.

Miracles, if constant, become a habit. And, things which mutate in habits become so much a part of you, that, eventually, they are woven in the tapestry of your personality. You are no more conscious of them. You are no more conscious even of the efforts that you put in hiding these habits from every one else… Practice, is the road to perfection! And, mind is just so good at adapting and taking everything, miracles included, in it's stride!

So, he grew up with it. Crossing the bridge, from fear of unknown, to a friendly base. He arranged things, cleaned his room and amused himself by juggling knick knacks in air… all without lifting a finger. And, he knew he could not go out and play basketball. He so very wanted to do it.

Slowly, he discovered the power; and slowly he discovered the steam of this power… volatile enough to be lethal… it almost did!

With discoveries, came an understanding that, it is HIS mind, he HAS to control it; for, a tool cannot control the engineer, a brush cannot control the painter. A 15 year old understanding!

Tell a girl, that a guy is absolutely useless for her… and yep, most definitely… the guy becomes a god, thoroughly irresistible!! The eternal romantic, that, this gender is…

He looked every bit, straight out of some old forgotten Mills n Boons paperback… tall, lanky, loner, thick lashed eyes behind the specs… well carved lips gleaming in crooked smile...the smile which was so sparse, that when it suddenly did play on…. I had my heart doing a jig… the heart which I, so unconsciously and unpretentiously wore on my sleeves. 

He was very handsome and he didn’t know it. Non conformist, unconventional…

My schooling in, rock/alternative music, my education of bike rides, late night discussions and all things sneered upon, in this so called practical “get-a-MBA-so-you-land-a-cream-job” world; and so much more, so much of which held all the fascination of being deeper in meaning… I owe all this to him.

The sane called him delusional. And, much to the consternation of these “sane” ones; he had impeccable taste in life – in things that mattered.

I was taken in by the quietly simmering fire, the liquid of the eyes… and the honey of the voice… deep baritone… I loved it, all. He was a drop out, wasn’t actually doing anything “substantial” to get anywhere in life, he lived on his own terms… selfish and yet so selfless, a misfit…he was all so wrong. In his words, he was a “just an artist”. And, I loved it all.

I was a misfit, in my own way… alternating between being a wallflower and a blunt tongue… depending on my mood and the crowd ... not only those around me, but me myself have always had a tough time… slotting myself.

My only aim in life was… well, I didn’t know… what I wanted, not then… Was living each day, as it came by… had stepped out of the protective confines of a small town middle class family; and I was already surrounded by suave classmates with either a work experience or an engineering college/hostel know how on their resume; before I could make sense of what hit me. It was at best a rollercoaster ride, which I didn’t know, how to handle. I made some little mistakes, trying to fit myself and ended up being scalded. I did not make any moves, trying to keep myself away and ended up getting third degree burns. What is being dished out to you in the name of life is quite funny.

Ours was a relationship, not by default but by design… a mixed, confused, un named, relationship… with an acute fondness turning to an acute attraction. I believe, there’s always that element of chemistry at work, when one talks of mars and venus, even if it is a pure platonic, fun thing… we do first react, to the gender, and, then the person… somewhere deep inside, we do know, that we like the person, as a man or a woman.


She wasn’t a conventional beauty. And yet, there was something extremely magnetic about her. She entered a room and people had to take notice of her; and yet, no one could pin down any particular attribute, feature. People couldn’t slot her and she was so unsure of herself, it just doubled up her attractiveness. It just so drove everyone nuts. People hated her, because they could not understand the intensity she was and she evoked. And, she definitely was on innumerable wishlist. A surprise!

He did notice her and that’s that. And, then he noticed her eyes. And, that’s that! She politely, formally said “hi” and walked off. Ages passed. And, things went on like they do; and unlike the movies, nothing really happened. No sparks. No songs. No coincidental meetings. And, he being what he was… He was anyways, laced in his own thoughts. However, he was very conscious of her presence or absence. Along the way, he saw her growing from taciturn girl to life of the party. However, her eyes, were still the same. Same loneliness! And, the increasing depth!

And, slowly, by default, they became acquainted… and rest just happened. He was careful not to will his ideas, his thoughts, when it came to her…

Not all stories end with “ever after”…

So, it happened… he could no longer keep himself from willing and wishing and making things happen for her, for himself… for his version of “us”.

And, there ensued a battle of wills… One thing, she was absolutely averse to, being controlled, deeds or thoughts.

As for him, he was oblivious of there being any other mind equaling his let alone, more powerful than his.

The battle became war. He would click her pictures and she could not believe it was her, the picture looked ethereal. He painted her. He created things for her. Everything had a magical hue. And, she saw right through all of it. The spontaneity and the instinct were fast loosing ground. It was all for a benefit. So??

So, this wasn’t any different from hordes of other stories. It was fast becoming a game of manipulations.

The more he wanted her all wrapped up only for himself… only because, she was the only one who knew and understood things, without being told. And, he could give her the world. So, what was wrong with her?

More, she grew distant. She was like the air, which bottled up, became stale… even if you perfumed it with the Chanel 5! She didn’t need the world. She needed to live “the world”, together.

He had lived only with his mind forever. Locked up.
She had lived free in herself. Locked in the world.

The caress became lethal. The love became fatal.
The art was getting to be all too self destructive.

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

the eternal game but am not interested

No Arc) Lights! (No Moving) Camera! Action! 
A new girl in the group, introduced to everyone, after a round of “hellos”; it would invariably be that, one of them would seem a little more interested in the girl.

And, there is a whole library on the “opening”/”pickup” lines… and the oldest in there is picked up…

“you like coffee?”,( and this is in a pub/bar)
“yea.. well…” (dude, this is a bar… and well, that’s not novel anymore)
“ wanna meet up for coffee later??”
“umm… later? We’ll see… thanks!”

This (being a way of saying, “thanks, no thanks!”) should have been a polite but effective deterrent. But, Ladies and Gentlemen, we are human beings and we come in all shapes/sizes/mindsets/values/… and worth mentioning personal rules for the game…so, my polite no, might be your “she-is-asking-for-more-asking-and-attention” rule…

Time to take farewells…

“hey guys, nice meeting you…see ya around, bye”
“umm.. .i would walk you down”

And since you want to get away, quickly, because:

-the DJ is not what you like
-the crowd is not what you prefer
-the drinks are lousy
-you just wanna get back home

You neither say yes or no to that… so you hurry down to your car…

“hey, you didn’t say anything about the coffee…”
“oh, that?... ya, we’ll see…”
“but you don’t even have my number…”
“oh that’s cool… good night!”

Ah… riddance! And, let’s just be very clear here that, its got nothing to do with the guy being un smart, not a looker, or any of those metrics values… You are just not interested. Simple. How difficult is it to take the cue? Understand?

But, you know what, making the top of the list in “ironies of human societal setup” is:

If it’s Simple and Straight, its not right! It HAS to have a hidden agenda! Its not possible to be that plain, there has to be a cunning, a game plan, a motive!!

Preposterous! Hilarious! Or maybe not, as we need to stop and take the long overdue look at this mindset. Why do we fear/not believe, if something “threatens” to be plain and basic? Why are we looking for complexities? Why are we always on the watch out? Because, we have been conditioned so. Because, we have been taught and we have witnessed, the manipulations, the lies, the cheatings, the one-upmanship play and also the unglamorous, no shine on being simple. So, the race of being snazzy and complex. It’s a fad, Ladies and Gentlemen. And, there could be another library on this entire subject, discussions, debates…

Nonetheless, the story, hitherto…

calls (through the common friend), SMSes, invites to various outings and so on…
all turned down… no time, darlings!

And it turns out, that some two weeks later, after dodging the umpteen attempts to get in touch and have a go at having a fling, I find myself at a friend’s place… cooking in the same kitchen!!

“OOooo!!” the cry goes, “that’s meant to be! its destined!” … and all those expressions that flow profusely at things like this… ah anyways, so I escape, unclaimed, unmatched and un harmed!

Umm, do I have issues with relationships/flings/”friendships”?? or am I “still undercover” … umm… gay???

The Garfield in me goes … HUH??

But Me, takes it with a flick of hair and no raised eyebrows;

No, sweetheart, am not interested! Would that be so difficult to understand? And, am not turning YOU down… and am not being standoffish, because I do not believe in offensives…unless, absolutely required!

And, this still is taken according to the “personal rules” : maybe she is needs extra attention.

Once again, after about another three weeks of repetitive steps of the game (the one which I am not even interested in watching… let alone play)… we “bump” into each other…and the very first opportunity finds me, subjected to:
my virtues, and how I am soo different and better than all the other girls, and how I am just perfect…and how these meetings are so very destiny’s design… and if I ever want to relocate to “the place where he earns his living”… etc etc…

Have I ever been flattered so much, any time before? And have I ever had the good fortune to be liked by someone so much?

Oh, lots of times!! Infact, every single time, this happens!!! So, why dont i ever be enamoured? charmed? Is there something wrong with me? Nothing. And, am sure, there are hordes of us (gender irrespective), who know, what I am saying!

And it went on for sometime… and the last I heard was, the man, in question is back from the airport, from where, he was headed to his place of business

A few pointed reflections:

Why? Why, just because the chasing game is the standard rule, everyone should be playing it and by it? Even when, am out of the race/game?

These are, as far as I understand, are accessories of growing up. An extra/co curricular activities of high school and college campus. So, how come, “so called” worldly wise individuals still hang to these accessories? For, I believe, that it always takes TWO to get a spark!!

And, why do we HAVE to let known our “engaged” status to keep such perseverance at bay? I mean, why cant you not be attached and not be gay and still not be interested in someone?

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

moon dust

From the dewy realms

Murmurs of night –
Terraced fields
Babbling sky
Humming lamps
Sounds of pleasure and pain

Warmth of the room, wakes up
Drifts down…
Spreads on
the elm lined walkways
The beige moon hangs low
Symbol of glee or woe…
The ebbs and flows of, his mood
Throbs like dynamo…
As effervescent
As mine…
Silly him,
Silly me…

The "Hermione" in me
Conjures castle,
Turns time…
Walked through the plane
Of angels and the dark ones
Avert my gaze
Unwilling to explain the presence

the fire crackles
back from the waves
enshrouded in clouds
the “now” silver orb
is tucking himself up

and while I was away
scattered a few verses
on my floor…

picked ‘em up
a stifle a yawn

the winged ones rouse
reverberation of rhymes
sieving in my early morning…

Morning, Earth!

Copyright © Neerja Yadav


the season, the life
now so elegiac...
carved on for you

strung myself into
a poem
a melody
composed for you

go on,
hum me...

my heart's rhythm
unnamed melonchly
an inspiration for you
go on
pen another poetry

those words
in your hand
seeped in your love

those which i had by heart

longer than the ages, days
longer than the times, nights
the lonely evenings wake up,
deserted lanes
stand at the door
with a forsaken look

the crow flies over
does not alight at my yard

dampness refuses to ignite
tired of breathing life
trying to incinerate
the darkness

tired of...

waiting for a word from you

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

surrender to the silence

Silence! What does it mean? While it accentuates the curves of speech, sometimes serves as its worthy enemy! The silence I talk of is not the absence of things to say. But the one, which is so much a part of you… that you don’t realize it exists… until the day, it just wakes up, stirs in that obscure corner, where it was lying mute and watchful, all this while… and this little rouse, hits you like a slap!

It does not hold meaning, for, all those times, it was being trampled on… ignored, it grew into realms of “beyond-meaning” and now, when you suddenly see its presence… and now when you wish it would talk to you… let it out, give it the substance, you think, it deserves… another hit… it IS so potent, its gone beyond grasp…of words.

It could have been invited in that corner as a post update of absolutely anything…

Something, which when crashed, was so enormous, that your “self” did not possess the temerity to attempt an understanding… and so, there it was! Ready to hold you and ensconce you, in safety!

And, while it was busy building those rain checks… you slipped out into the sunshine from the backdoor… leaving it all by itself.

And, that’s why… now…

It needs coaxing, constant pampering… slow salve to the sentient… with a random poetry, an abstract wit, an outburst, a song….a constant humming… and then one fine day… it would decide to give the words, the speech, a chance at an affair with itself… of course, the guard is still on… and not all is revealed… it’s a continuing exploration… an ongoing discovery… at least the start is made.

And, some day a memoir would be born!

For now, am enjoying the torrid affair. Of my silence and my speeches!

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

speed of dakness

remember the corners you turned?
those turns continue to stand there, still
with too many creepers around my feet

wish, someday, somewhere…
you could taste this existence
nights which killed me…
could somehow knock on your doors,

the name still dances on my lips
but my voice cracks…

the quest of the expanse, still on
but my senses are weary…

the unquenched thirst, still hurts
but my senses soaked…

a vision… a mirage
beginning of an obsession
transformed into devotion

am no longer my own

bathed in the blood
of my hurt..
hurt of my own want
hurt of my own desire
hurt of my fear

fear of knowing you
fear of losing “you”

the mirage…

my saviour
my nemesis
my continued reverence…


…you are now the messiah

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

jus another drop

would you weave these stories,
would you hold this heart,

while I shake off your spell…
going back to the start

remember the nights?
i cradled you with my pillows
bundled your smiles
tapped my dreams to sleep

remember the dusks?
i flirted with raindrops
spoke to spaces
tuned myself to life…

unfinished blinks
dotted breaths
incomplete me…

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

love@-2700 degrees

colors of sunset
playing in dark eyes

shades of orange
sieving shadows

like the first lightening
shivers of beauty

slow falling poetry
exhilarating rock song…

drizzles of desires
thrills of innocence

queen of dreams
flowing … river in rains
flying... new wings
running…young fawn

drowning…neon signs
inundating… noises around
submerging… muddy waters

sometimes all we have is forced fantasies
sometimes its just contrived romance…

sometimes… these are the only shots
to numb… the farce,
to ignore… the pain,
to loose…the won race…

…and I just lost you again
but faith I cant loose

… one quick
flashed look
sub zero breaths

a whirlwind…
a wand swish

hiding beneath the sheets of night
spinning yarns…of an unknown knight

unclaimed love
reclaims the void
while floating
like fairytale feathers

nostalgia of the tune…
like ‘heathclife’ it haunts …

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

drink to glory

seems like yesterday?
Or was it tomorrow?
you lightly touch my sleep

tripped on my dreams

let the low mist roll in
let the little bells toll in
a few more dreams…

you spread the fluffy sky,
i have the wet sand
…beneath my feet

amidst the midnight clouds
silver washed sky…

silence in the courtyard
the planet sleeps…


slow and sudden deliberation
my anklets tinkle

my bangles clink
with bashful and growing seduction

fluttering, smiling eyelids
wet, gleaming lips

a few unsaid heart beats
a few skipped shyness…

stars in the eyes

the soul
moves on the tempo

the body
stirs to the tune

am drunk on the moonlight…

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

uncolored knowledge, quantified emotions

“Sometimes the needs are not transitive”

Sometimes the knowledge of someone’s power just sneaks over you,
Catching you unawares…

Sometimes, it isn’t power
Sometimes, it does not have color

Those seconds and minutes,
Those counted steps and numbered counts
An attempt at drowning the sense of helplessness inside
Perfectly stoic calm holding
The butterflies lurching around in the bile
My own metaphors for the state
Clouding my mind

Threw everything in the box
Heaped everything on the scales

And crossed my fingers
Packed my prayers
Eyelids shut tight
And hoped against hope,

That the sheer force,

Make the difference
Shift the weight…

And make the moment mine…

With, an unbroken absoluteness.

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

contained chaos

Two perfect strangers.

He came little close (too close?): “in dark you can’t see properly…”; and this darkness-filtered-by-lights-from-the-street, was really his idea; in the first place.

Not that I minded, being there. Me, the if-ever-lights-are-out-and-i-scream, did not mind it!!! Was quite comfortable.. uh huh.. actually far from comfortable… sweaty palms, shaking shivering frame. I could seriously hear my throbbing heart, inside my brains. Brains? Was I even thinking?

He took another tentative step, a very small step, “you are shrinking”. Shrinking? I could just wrap into a little bundle right here.

I did not dare look up into his eyes. His eyes!

Since,I first met him, I have been extremely aware of his eyes. Not many a brown pairs have managed to look straight inside. The way they manage to laser in through all those walls and cobwebs on them.

And, I don’t mean, those locking of looks which one gets into, while high on adrenaline, there in “the moment”. That, I know, happens to all of us. Has had happened to me. Eyes’, brimming with love and passion, when one is in love and in those moments!! That’s bliss!

But, this?? This was… lemme look for a befitting description…

Umm, while the background process of “now” functioning brains go looking for the description.

In the meanwhile, unbeknownst to my frazzled senses, “his royal highness”…

(why? Well, the guy walked and talked and behaved like he ruled one and all and none, but that isn’t a surprise, we could easily put that as “chauvinism”, but no, this wasn’t just plain male egoism, this was gentleman arrogance, dignity and royalty all rolled into one. But the surprise really is that for once, me the ardent freedom freak, me the confident devil-may-care-wild-child was not only so goddamned conscious of him… I actually flustered and at times found myself just quiet and looking for words… and not even looking for them; somehow, being in quiet company was just enough)

…was co close that his warm deep breath was flirting with my truant strands of hair, playing softly on my cheeks. Shrinking? Is that what he said? I could just curl up like a flower right here.

Not a touch… not a word anymore… all I did was look up into those eyes. Clearly a mistake!

*exhilaration*,*fire*,*waves*,*craze*,*complete blur*
The air around---
Those few moments---
Those eyes---
--- Raw unadulterated energy.

The moment passed like all moments do,
like, I knew it would.

Why then did I catch a lone drop on my cheeks?
Why did I pacakge the whirlwind inside in a small little smile?

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

25 minutes

do you know, like i do??
theres only a moment or two...

still haven't said a few good bye
hanging still are a few little "hi"s

dear time,...
could you manage a slow motion take...

now that we transcend, the realms
now that we move on

i still have a wish
a wish to be kissed

kissed by life
one last time

Copyright © Neerja Yadav


hey there,

just back,
from my galaxy ride

the suns still being born
the stars being torn

void unending
lights all bending

the curl of the gravity
a few gamma ray bursts

firecrackers display like, in those fares
only brighter some million times square

this time around,
it wasnt my broom

just put on my dancing shoes
took a fouette

a twist, a turn
fifth position and a swirl...

took a deep breath
did a grand jete

and landed softly
on a stardrive

the universe, my friend
is not dark as they say
a boiling cauldron
with some brilliant interplay

of light and sounds
actions and reactions
chemistry with a dash of mystery
physics in all its grandeur
harmoniously chaotic

theres a pattern
and theres a design
beyond comparison
above comprehension

imagine your heaven
ice it with faeries
invite a few gnomes

decorate it with particles
and antimatter
break the entire wavelength
do a red and blue shift,

experience the doppler shift
exponential blackholes

and we still dont have the picture...

let the words fail
thoughts fade

dance of the worlds... fantastic!

Copyright © Neerja Yadav


Long unyielding nights
Soggy sodden memories
Untouched, cold latte mugs

Whiff of breath
Half opened lips
Stinging little moist

A noise, in that obscure corner?

Shadows of few dreams
Whispers of few laugh
Murmur of few tears

And yet, the emptiness…?

Clouded moon
Blurred thought
Misted vision

Did you want to say something?

A little sleepy
A little wakeful
A little glazed

Were those eyes washed with my name?

Dusk of desires

And yet, the longing…?

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

sometimes its very raw

Slow, tiring sunlight
Gradual rising moon
Deliberate dripping sky

Entwined fingers
No more strangers

Flickering strong flame
Roiling desire
Irrepressible indeed

The rains come, suddenly
Steaming off the rocks

Bathing the tress
Raw fragrance
Rising off the earth

Deep thunders
Roll in, in the distance

Dripping, drenched Nights

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

when i loved my work

I came in early today.

Like all those days before today, as i walk into the warm familiarity of this place, smiles, “good mornings”, nods, “hi”, smile-in-the-eyes… , i realise that this place feels like home, in fact, to confess, quite a few days, I cant wait to get back here in the mornings. Its not just work space, not just another office, it almost feels like an identity, like extension of the self.

I am almost at the verge of quitting. Not because, I hate this, au contraire, I would give anything to stay; and yet there are those material considerations, like the career not doing too good etc, like i want to do bigger things, like there are policies which prevent "so-called" anarchy...

So, I came in early today, I mean earlier than my average days. The population was quite sparse then. Strolled down the aisles, to my desk, the welcome comfort of the corner seat, the most collaged soft board, most clean and decorated desk and the conceptual wallpaper on the desktop… somehow, today, I seem to be noticing all these details with an abstract detachment.

Perhaps, I can see the inevitable happening. It’s time to move on. And, then in some obscure corner, a feeble voice protests against the understanding of inevitable. I want to stay. This place sculpted quite a lot of me, “the me”, today. Knowledge, professionalism et al… only happen to be incidental details. And, yet, I know, I can’t. Not anymore. It IS time to go. When exactly, remains to be agreed upon and then…

I sat staring at the red and white logo, so proudly displayed on soft board, and the mind does not reel back to the first day at work or any other day… I just sat staring at it. Why? How does this happen? When do things like working for organization transcend into the realm of emotional quotients? est-ce que je suis stupide?

Among these thoughts, the "automaton" began the process of taking turns between checking mails and doing what they call productive...

Time has strange ways of taking turns! Imagine, they teaching me it was cyclic, perhaps!

Copyright © Neerja Yadav