Kharghar is burning

I wrote the following poem many years ago, when I had 2 years of laryngitis due to the burning of garbage on the roads outside our earlier residence. It was common, so an ENT specialist had her clinic details posted on the society notice board!

Diwali, a festival of new beginnings, is the time I don’t walk down the streets. Firecrackers used to start well in advance of the festival, but this year seems better, and I’m grateful for it.

Still, roads don’t usually get cleaned immediately after Diwali here in Kharghar, and the remains of firecrackers and the strong smell is a health hazard for many. This year seems a little different and people are starting to realise that we need to change and find new, non-polluting ways to enjoy the festival. I hope this trend continues.


Kharghar is burning and nobody cares.

There’s often a strong smell of smoke in the air.

Garbage collection is not a routine,

And waste segregation still is a pipe dream. Continue reading

Start to explode?

The roads there for walking, the streets are for parking,

The footpaths where we sell our wares.

The junction is where we stop to chat,

Though the signal is green and we’re causing a jam.


We’re desperately eager to eat at the cart,

On the road mid the smoke from the bikes and cars,

We give our kids soft-drinks and call it juice,

We want sugar, and fat, and colour in our food.


We drive on the wrong side of the road,

‘Cos to follow the rules would be a  great load!


We walk on the inner side of the path,

With our kids on the outside. We’re as happy as larks!


We don’t stress the small stuff, we let it grow,

Till it’s heavy and big and things start to explode.

You’ve either got to laugh at the Navi Mumbaikar, or have a good cry 🙂

A tale of two families

Husband No 1 :

Nothing to do, nothing to do!

My poor dear wife has nothing to do!

I come home from work and the house is so clean,

She’s sitting around reading a magazine!

The food is all cooked and our ironing is done.

She looks like her day’s been a lot of fun.

She has nothing to do ‘cos housework is easy,

She nags! Maybe, she needs some occupational therapy.

So I sit down and ask her to get me some water,

To bring me my kindle and the newspaper.

I sit down and wait while she serves dinner,

A little bit of work helps her keep her figure.


Husband No 2 :

Too much to do, too much to do!

My poor dear wife has too much to do!

I come home from work and she’s running around

The dinner’s on the stove and her work is not done,

The home and the family take all her time,

Her life is too busy, she needs to have fun!

I walk in and get a drink of water, then help her bring dinner to the table.

My wife needs a break cos there’s too much to do,

So I help her at home when I’m able.


Wife No 1 :

Too much to do? Too much to do?

My dear friend really has too much to do?

Nothings done ‘cos she works at a comfortable pace.

She takes the breaks that she needs.

I envy her style, how she does with a smile.

The help that she gets makes me burn up inside,

I do so much more but it’s always a chore.

I wish I had time, but there’s too much to do,

and there’s no-one at home who helps me.


Wife No 2 :

Too much to do, too much to do!

My dear friend really has too much to do!

She doesn’t know when to take a break,

and thinks it’s a sign that she’s really great!

She’s stressed all the time and she takes so much trouble,

But what is it worth, if she’s always nagging?


Child of Couple No 2 :

Too much to do, too much to do!

My poor dear mother has too much to do!


Child of Couple No 1 :

Nothing to do, nothing to do!

My poor dear mother has nothing to do!

I better find something for her to do.


It’s funny watching women who have totally different styles of managing their home. It has such an impact on the attitudes of their families and the appreciation they get for their work.

This play in a poem is fictional. It’s a lighter look at two stay-at-home women who have very different styles of managing their homes. I hope you enjoy reading it!

The pot-stirrer

I could let the dal cook and not give it a look,

Let it stick to the base of the pot.

Then skim off the top, throw the burned part out,

And not worry about the waste, if what’s left suits my taste.

But the bottom of the pot holds the flavour,

That makes the dal taste divine.

And looking away is more labour,

Because scrubbing away the burn takes time.

64 cauldron-151273_640

Continue reading

Pleeease dirty the mat!

A message to all our visitors. It’s about the floor mat that slants diagonally across our doorway during the monsoon, kept that way so everyone has to walk over it to enter our living room.

Sometimes visitors see that it’s clean and try not to dirty it, trailing all dust and the wet from the rains into our home! The funniest is those who can’t bear to see it slant across the grid of our floor tiles and feel compelled to take the trouble to straighten it out!

This poem is for them 🙂

You can step on the mat that lies across my floor.

Wipe your feet as you enter the door.

Don’t try to save me the washing,

‘Cos all it does is increase my mopping. Continue reading

That wonderful feeling

That wonderful feeling that you don’t know enough.

It’s what keeps you wanting to study and learn.
To strive to always be better today than you were yesterday.

That feeling that you never fit in.

Because you don’t live by rules imposed by the outside.
You’ve got an internal compass of your own and you’ve learned it’s wise to trust it.
And be comfortable with who you are. Continue reading