Uncut Poetry
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Uncut Poetry
Sunil Bhandari is a poet by compulsion. He says he survives in this world because he can get to write poetry. This podcast is of his poetry.
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296 episodi
Finding Home in Places We've Left Behind
Revisiting a place where one has one's roots is tricky business.
On the one hand, there is enough familiarity - relatives, school chums...
When it Rains, Love Slips
Love is fragile but can withstand blows; it is easily dismantled but can be unrelenting in its persistence. It can disintegrate in a word, but can sta...
Lovers Who Synchronise (& those who don't)
Pondering as I do on relationships, the beauty and brokenness of them, I continuously marvel, nay wonder, at both their tenacity and tenuousness. And...
Just Be Air
We don't always realize, how much of our lives belongs to others, is determined by others. Their concerns, their insistences, their jealousies, their...
Waiting
People drift.
Love leaves home. Life becomes a refugee. We become migrants in our own cities.
What brought two people together oft...
So Tonight That I Might See You
Relationships often run their course. But we don't. And I'm both heartbroken and frustrated at the phenomenon. As I try to decipher the possibility of...
The Morning After
What did my palms come to know
what did my skin feel
what did my eyes own
as I transversed universes
as I clasped light con...
Finding Myself Beyond You
Someone said something very telling the other day. In a court of law, the criminal knows he's the one, the accuser knows the criminal is the one. So i...
I Heard The Other Day
So much of our time is spent in yearning.
A slow despair of knowing life is slipping by, and of somehow not being able to wrap our arms...
I Have Watched You Make the Ordinary Holy
We are what we make of the minutiae of our daily lives. Because love resides in them.
We have a simple choice - we can curse at the commonplace...
Let Me Sit Beside You, Quietly
A colleague committed suicide today. 7 am. He woke up early, took a bath, did his pujo, and then hung himself from a fan. His wife discovered him when...
Lemonade at the End of a Buzzing Day
I was reading poet Joy Sullivan's book of burnished sepia-tinged poems "Instructions for travelling west", and followed the footsteps of her poems int...
Do Wait For My Ashes
I am at that age when I see more deaths than births.
And, for some esoteric reason, such news arrives either as an early morning call -...
Luck by Chance
So much arrogance!
I see people preen into their power, as if they owned every bit of what they are. Old wealth and position are often t...
On Falling & Failing
So much of our lives, nay, our heart-space, our mind-space, is about flying or falling, of binaries like coming ahead, being there first, being smarte...
When We Meet Again
Friends, lovers, relatives. People we know intimately. Who do we become when apart? Our bodies replace 330 billion cells every day. Every 15 years or...
En route (how I encountered war)
I was in Emirates business class,
on the way to Dubai, en route to a holiday.
I was happy with myself, my life.
A full meal, two rom...
Survivors
I have always wondered about people who go through tragedy, and then fall into profound grief. Such that their lives change, trajectories bend, and a...
Tell Me, Tell Me, How a Tear Was Born
There are so many microscopic things which happen which tend to change our lives - not in cataclysmic ways, but in infinitesimal ways making us the pe...
Here We Are In The Years
"My love, of a thousand reaffirmations,
we know we will never find ourselves in adequacies.
Beyond the blemishes you absorbed,
...
When Did You Say?
Sometimes you just know.
As someone once said "I knew you were the one, as soon you walked into the room. There was light coming out of...
Will We Ever Trust The Skies Again?
Someone once said "The path of peace goes through power." It's not only the truth, but a reality. Sadly.
In a world largely ruled by men...
Sometimes Life Leaves You Alone
Vincent Van Gogh, possibly the loneliest man in history, once said - “A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and pas...
Living Inside a Wound
Too often, only too often, couples live lives of quiet despair.
Without knowing that's not ordinary, that's not what coupledon is all ab...
As Summer Finds a Beginning
Summer is late in the city I stay in. There are discussions about it but no conclusions. Some say - enjoy the extended spring. Nobody minds, as there...
Return to You
The riches of our lives, even when we are not searching for it, is like the journey of Santiago, the young Andalusian shepherd boy in Paulo Coelho's T...
Elegante Solitude
Aloneness is forced, solitude is a choice. Loneliness forces me unwillingly to be with myself. But solitude, as the great Montaigne said, gives me a c...
I Come With Mud
Coming back, when you've slammed the door behind you, is not easy. Literally or metaphorically. There is too much history to deal with, to have it hi...
I Said I Love You First
You have to say it first. You have to do it first. You have to use the words. You have to acknowledge what is burning inside you. You don't have to fi...
Assisted Suicide
I read about the famous economist Daniel Kahneman, author of 'Thinking fast and slow', opting to end ha life through assisted suicide, euthanasia. He...
I Call Myself a Poet
I often feel that as a poet I am destined to live through the infliction, the gain and the loss, the incandescence and the darkness, of a continuing b...
Last Legs of the Day
So much of life is of journeys, just the way death is the final one.
Of course, I'm not only talking of trapezing around the world, coun...
Tenderly
What are we if not the ones who crave for second chances. And what is this world if not a place which is spatially abundant but trajectorily linear.
Love Actually (more & mess)
Love they say
Is the mess you invite,
The mess you make
And the mess you leave behind.)
It's a flash, it's a paint,
Sometimes We Remember So Hard
So much of life is about forked roads and where we choose to lead ourselves.
If we are vigorous about living, we would give little time to ourse...
I Would Hate To Be That Man
I fear disuse. I fear lack of purpose. Not necessarily in terms of conclusions but more in terms of direction. Whatever I do, I feel good to think it...
Waiting for My Flight to Chennai at the Kolkata Airport
We are all strangers singularly and a brotherhood en masse.
With a seamless earth and a sky being shared between us, in spite of boundar...
Walking Into The Winter Sun
I sometimes wonder if there is anything comparable to the generosity of a morning?
Once you force yourself up, the cornucopia of the uni...
Perpetrators & Victims of Love
Our lives are a collage of a thousand scraps of random, and often irreconcilable, happenstances and mistakes and decisions thrown onto a canvas of exi...
Different Ways in Which You Can Fail to Say Thank You
It's basic good manners they say, possibly one of the first things taught to a child, the most primal form of grace. The importance of, nay, the neces...