When you’re with me, I feel as though
you have shrunk
from a dutiful husband to a romantic lad.

You sleep on clean bedsheets, the washing machine
in your house cries out for clean water
to remove any stain,
and the foamy water finds its way
into the river Brahmaputra.

On the riverbank, I grow vegetables,
my only source of income
growing and selling.
Yet, you always want them fresh and
don’t pay me a single penny.

At night, when I am seduced by the fire that
your absence ignites, I hurriedly hold
the pillow close;
My bedsheet smells of you.


Let us go to the Mahabalipuram beach,
thy favourite place where I dreamt alone.
Those bygone days when I was crazy
about you and the fireflies fell for the lambent moon.
I drifted towards an unfamiliar space like a threadless
kite, I did not know that it was a black hole
waving at me to gulp me down, I would skip
the welding class as it was about how to join
two pieces of metal,
not about how to fix a broken heart.

For I found freedom on that beach, saw happiness
on lovers’ faces, crazy lovers who defied
societal norms and kissed passionately.
One day, when you said you had a fantasy of
kissing your lover on the beach, I built a sandcastle.
It ain’t there; you may find another one which is
unlike the metallic, claustrophobic operation theatre
where your gall bladder was removed.
A sandcastle is not as heavy as metal
and can easily be washed away.