The book is witty and quite entertaining. Lets you in on what went inside the locker room of the then Indian Cricket Team. Comes from a perspective of a wannabe cricketer Vikram Sathaye, the book sticks mostly to the dressing room chortles and tries to
Painted poetic,Brushed artistic,Close up of your eyes,Golden brownAnd searchingAnswers to my quests,At my behests,They dare to look into mine.Arrests my gaze,What a mazeOf loony talks!That happen when We are inches from each other,And I can’t stop myselfFrom venturing forward –My daring towardSoft edges of your
The door is open,All my insecurities walk inWhen you talk about leaving.Think it must be my faceThat tries to effaceYour very existence from my life,Or could it be my hairThat goes nowhereNear to complement my style?Or is it my voiceThat makes a weird noiseWhenever it
Matted with my mess,You fit me like a glove,Pressed against my body,As we try to become one,Fighting everything the world hauls,Biting everything that it calls for,Plucking weeds that stop usFrom going back to our origin story –We were the same rockBefore we parted ways,And splayed
Mornings laced with the taste of you,A memory stoned in time,Arms biting your body inWith a promise to hold you tight.Marveling at every tiny featureThat composes your ethereal form,Consuming you with my razor eyes,So you never get forgotten,Unlike a past that feels all hazy now,I
I am livid at my parents for messing me up. I am angry at the society that they call themselves a part of. There is nothing likable about it. All their rules, their self-proclaimed laws are decadent and morally so hurtful that if a fully
Victim to the human condition,I have been torn,Now scars are bornWhere there used to be a picture.I can’t find it now,I had a story some minutes agoThat someone smudged,And I have no idea why –I don’t understand their ways of life.Subjected to some critical liesThat
I love the autonomy in you,The power to go outWhenever you feel like,And to stay in when you don’t,While people are tied to a clockThey have never questioned before.How you are not governed by any human life,As if you were your own creation,That anyone who
Words have never been enoughTo fit a story of love,And what it makes you feel inside.You think ecstasy is it,But that barely scratches it,Is it the rapture in your heart?But that barely covers it,And whatever brings euphoriaWhen it ushers in,Or what bliss should all be
Beware!You are leaving meWith my headAloneI think a lotOf nonsenseWhen you are gone.If I dare make senseThen hear me out,If you hurt yourselfThen cry me outOf your system,It can be done,I have done it too,After a day or twoYou think not much,And you think lessOf