Yes, I love him like pastel,
my pastel blue bucket bag.
Carry his heart on the edge of my sleeve
as though it is a childhood locket,
still holding my picture naked.

But there have been days,
dark, sinful days..
Days when sweet memories would fade out,
leaving behind the ghost of a man
haunting, dancing
on the delicate tight rope
between what was meant to be
and what should truly be.

Yes, I still love him like pastel,
my pastel blue bucket bag.
But nothing remains now,
So finally I pray…
“Oh Lord
when you
give me
my due,
Will you paint
my soul
in  pastel blue…. ?”

“Hoping to taste Marlboros someday, she smiles.”


Smoke drifts up and up,
As cigarettes sweep into her lungs
perfectly in sync with her heavy breathing…
From the end of the slim white stick
Residual ashes fall, cold and powdered.
She can hear it singe- the paper burning;
She can feel the thing- a beautiful sadness inside her soothing;
Almost done now.
The empty filter of tar burns and comforts her life’s lies….
Hoping to taste Marlboros someday, she smiles.


“When She Fell in Love with His Lavani Dance.. “


Note: This piece is inspired from Lavani. Lavani means “beauty” and is a folk dance of India performed by Women, on the beats of “Dholki”. It is mostly performed in the states of Maharashtra, North Karnataka, and southern Madhya Pradesh. In our society it is believed that Men should not perform Lavani and those who do, are judged and insulted by the society or are considered effeminate. But here I want to question that what if someone is effeminate..? Who are you to judge..? Also, I feel art is beyond all these binaries created by our society. Therefore I wrote this piece as a form of awareness for humanity and also to portray the sad picture of our society..


She often saw him dance.
Away from the world,
Under the gulmohars..
Felt as if he was in a beautiful trance..
And in that divine moment
She fell in love with his Lavani dance..

She was scared..
But that day she dared,
“You stole my heart and never gave it back.
Now can you give me a forever..?
We will be together,
And I will watch you dance..”

He kissed her hard.
And like the blooms of a scorching Indian summer
Their hearts bloomed with love.
That scorching Indian summer – a tale of their desires so pure and naive.

The aftermath was a fairytale.
They walked hand in hand
But their love was not “normal”
People would tell.

She told him to shed his insecurities and reveal himself more…
But people had their own judgements and they were sore.
“Stop your effeminate dancing, its queer.
Wash that red off your feet before you come near..”

He payed no heed,
Danced to the rythm of her heartbeat.
But then the line got crossed
And she was the one who was cursed the most..
“He will never be a husband, will offer nothing much,
Better leave this society with your shameless trans..”

Her insult finally ceased his alta clad feet.
His smile grew dimmer,
Her sorrow sang its own woeful bit.

But soon he extinguished the final flame.
And she could only scream holding his dead frame,
“You took your life like sometimes lovers do
But I want to tell you my love,
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you…”

Now this is the story, Dear Straight people.
She dared to love unconditionally
And she was one of you.
And there was a time….
A time when they walked hand in hand,
When she fell in love with his Lavani dance.