The Elevator

We scurry to work,
but are prepared
to make a guest appearance, 
into an experimental stage;
with hardly Shakespeare’s actors 
but neighbours, cleaners, strangers,
everyday people.
We care not for the genre:
tragic, fantastical , romantic acts
or simply commonplace realism;
but for the experiences 
carved by daily stimuli,
from cubicle to cubicle.


We smile, stare or preoccupy ourselves,
in fallacious mental rehearsals. 
The eyes that meet, are transformed
into frank disclosures,
or dubious experts.
But, in all earnest,
we hide our reactive countenance,
while cautiously envying
a Snicker-smudged toddler,
smirking at heeled beauties 
or slick men bathed in perfume.
We all do play parts, 
(but some of us with learned ease)
embodying a million expressions.
But when alone, 
not only does B1 to floor 32 come in a jiffy,
we think lonely, surly thoughts
of the whys and wherefores,
“why was I irked by the gleeful cheers of that kindie?”
“wherefore did I consult my watch,
when she entered on floor 28?” 


Elevated, these journeys go on, day after day.
We notice or chose to be numbed
by the roles we play.
We still curse at frugal time,
but never at ouselves.
Like our blue ball that eternally spins 
relentless on life’s axes,
the elevator is undisturbed,
it soars into the skies
transporting us into moments 
of the past, present or future 
or into moments of temporal absence.

Rajashree Anand

My Ode to Coffee

Oh! aromatic one,

you who in ceramic radiance

can magnetise oceans of flavours,

have become but a menace.

Oh! concocted sprite

of pure race,

Vietnamese, Columbian or Coorgi…

don’t multiply your blends -

stay pure, don’t be swayed by adultery

the way we are.

Let not versions ruin our days,

in addictive indulgence of diluted tastes.

But let the South Indian wife,

in all her morning strife,

satisfy her swami’s morning glee

- a sip of soodu filter kapi.

Oh! aromatic one,

save your humility to save your grace.

You are better razed than glazed

with additives like ginger and elaichi, please!

Not frozen but blazing hot and frothy.

Please hear me and not the

verbal gossip of staffs,

on their boss’s day-off or ‘lay-offs’

precious minutes are wasted on trivial woe,

drunk over shots of your expresso.

Heed my call, mark my words,

if you don’t agree, then let me switch to tea.

Rajashree Anand

Being Lost and Found

I found relief in that altered moment,

when the arid, yellow course

caved, into greener woods.

I crushed the violent undergrowth

in a leap; to forbid silence,  

and grew fruition in zealous cheers.

In wonderment,

‘How, why, does my memory fade me?’

 I questioned.

I had led many through that crag,

planted seeds of incentive,

at broken ankles - twisted trials on trails.

But, alone that day,

momentarily untried, I stood:

in unknown knowledge,

(despite my many revisitations!)

of the transient wilderness,

Nature’s deceptive mischief.

In studied skill,

mastered over years of arduous treks,

I accepted the challenge, trudged forward still.

I lashed through weathered, wild cacti:

the snares of bewilderment,

 to find the rugged cliff’s end.

I peered not far down:

at the lush, re-learned knowledge

and rejoiced, in a mighty leap of celebration.

I bade that moment a proud farewell

and continued to seek pristine paths

laid to be grubbed;

relieved in new visions of confidence

but waiting to be tested again,

and yet again.

Rajashree Anand

Brazen Sand

I waited in my pillaged shack

like you’d ordered me to,

before you trod foreign sands.

The mirages of your arrival

were like remnant shadows of my

fallen, looted village

that you’d scoured on your way.

But, my parched earthen lips, breathless

bequeaths a final heave for you,

a fair disgust, to pale the heart-line

and renew its beauty with 
the smell of fresh henna

and glass bangles clinking at my wrists.

“These limitless boundaries I shall cross

to marry you, Sana.” you’d said Musafir.

“Three years! For a bandit?” I thought every night. 

and I walked into Iftikar’s thatch again...

Rajashree Anand