In 2016, a whale washed up on Mumbai's shore. This poem is about that incident and our 'spectator culture'.
No money, no food, no grain in the mill, none to foot the mushrooming bills.
Before the gate was constructed, we had free access to those natural reserves of equality, logic and free thinking.
A poem about the monotony of our technology-filled lives – what's real anymore and what's not?
This poem is dedicated to India's Red Fort, that stood by and was a part of our history, only to be sold to the highest bidder today