Pungidasa's Blog

I love Bengaluru,
Even the traffic.
It allows me to be introspective in between red signals.
I think about Red signals that I often ignore in my relationships.

I love Bengaluru.
Even the traffic,
What else can give you the thrill of a formula One race when the seconds are ticking down on the green.

I love Bengaluru,
Even the traffic.
Somedays I reach home within hours. I share the gratitude to the powers above. I have survived yet again.

I love Bengaluru,
Even it's rains.
When it does appear, and disappear - nobody knows. So me another city with so much mystery.

I love Bengaluru,
Even when it rains.
It makes me pause. And I find kinship in fellow travellers of life. We like ants sit, stand and gossip for sometime, make calls to our loved ones and look at life beyond the screen.

I love Bengaluru,
When it rains.
It gives me my cardio, in just putting clothes out to dry and getting them back in...

Show me another city that offers such a thrill, each time it rains is another movie.

I love Bengaluru rains,
I love Bengaluru traffic,
Both of them bring me to a pause.
A pause, simple enough to write a poem,
A pause, profound enough to make me write a poem.

I love Bengaluru,
When it's 5 am,
And the solitary dog in the apartment goes bowwwwwwwwww uwwwww uwwww...
And the jugalbandi begins.

Don't ask me why,
I am poet that simply loves a pause.
And Bengaluru makes you pause.
It's raining,
I am stuck in the cab,
She is sitting next to me in the back seat.
Chemistry is in the air...
What else do I need.

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Her lips are red, red like traffic lights asking to stop, stare and wait...

Whilst her lips stunned me, her eyes hit me like lightning,
Such grace, such beauty!
I wanted to just stand there and admire...

I had written a hundred love poems to her in an instant, initially lust, then admiration, slowly turning to worship...

Wait, wait.
There is more.
She spoke, her lips moving, her eyes dancing about,
Her voice was like a flute playing across plains, asking the cattle to come home.
I was mesmerised a little more.

She had to laugh, laugh like a five year old, to hold me in trance for just a little more.

There was so much more to know, eternities to find out more...

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Poetry written by Pungidasa

Listen by Sunil Sathyendra!

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A reflection

I add yet another selfie to an
already growing list of selfies.

Photo number 6666677677666 gets stored on my phone, I deem that it's good enough.
Sometimes it makes its way to be married to social media,
Facebook, WhatsApp, instagram, twitter, linkedin, Snapchat everywhere it goes.

When its time is done, it gets sorted and stored somewhere safe, safe until my next forgotten password fiasco.

Sometimes, after a year or two these photographs are gassed and sent to heaven or hell.
Who cares, they are deleted permanently from its existence.
Their traces, bloodlines erased forever.

I am often pondering why certain photos took up space,
why it created a memory,
when did it occur and I struggle to remember and I discard it-
Spots open only for important memories.
The next iteration they may go too...
Its survival of the most importantest.

People, places - only the relevant ones stay,
yet again their relevance subjective and always bound to change.

For now, There is a need for space for my latest picture,
a poem that I have written.
So my head is wondering which ones to obliterate and make space...

Maybe God is doing just that ,
Making space for new photos in his album when he cleans them off the Earth.

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Daily Poems by Pungidasa

Poem 1

He was there everyday just near the tree,
His van parked perfectly in the most busy part of the market.

His Puliogre plate was the manifestation of miracles,
The salt, the sourness, the taste, the fragrance was all just too irresistible...

There was always a line near the green trees, waiting in line to have their piece of life giving Puliogre.

Ajja as he was famously called made the most gracious of lunches,
Thirty rupees a plate would fill your belly and leave you with a smile. That was without fail.

Everyday like clockwork, he would come, just when the sun was at his peak and the green canopy provided more respite.

Everyone was infatuated, the moment they has a bite, exploring for groundnuts bit by bit!

By three, the plates washed, bellies filled, contentment washing all over his bearded face, Ajja would go home and narrate the events to his daughter, who was the cook.

And I would come each day,
To savour the offerings and go home fully satiated.

He could never be missed,
Always on time.. The lunch bell at my LIC office would ring and Ajja would be there I know.

This Puliogre reminded me of home. Reminded me of my Ajja and Ajji everytime.

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As the cool waters of the river touch him, it feels as if he is home.
After a long long wait,
That held him in the protective dam of the womb...

When it broke, it came as a calling, a calling to find home.

Answering an ancient adventure that seemed to plant a seed of hope in his heart.

A seed that would grow into a tree full of fruits, flowers and more.

Traversing a path, millenias old, guided only by faith, the stars his light in the darkest of hours!

There is a tree, far far away, bearing the flowers of a thousand thoughts, waiting for the warrior to come home.

The Warrior is a sage now.
The sage of metaphors, the sage of silence and listening.
A smile emanates from him that radiates peace, love and the quiet satisfaction of having arrived!!

The heart of the tree calls him, he rushes home, traversing paths less travelled, knowing too well the rhythms of his desires.
He yearns to taste the fruit of his tree, plant it's seeds anew.

He will find home. He needs no directions.

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Photo by Julius Carmine on Unsplash

As the cool waters of the river touch him, it feels as if he is home.
After a long long wait,
That held him in the protective dam of the womb...

When it broke, it came as a calling, a calling to find home.

Answering an ancient adventure that seemed to plant a seed of hope in his heart.

A seed that would grow into a tree full of fruits, flowers and more.

Traversing a path, millenias old, guided only by faith, the stars his light in the darkest of hours!

There is a tree, far far away, bearing the flowers of a thousand thoughts, waiting for the warrior to come home.

The Warrior is a sage now.
The sage of metaphors, the sage of silence and listening.
A smile emanates from him that radiates peace, love and the quiet satisfaction of having arrived!!

The heart of the tree calls him, he rushes home, traversing paths less travelled, knowing too well the rhythms of his desires.
He yearns to taste the fruit of his tree, plant it's seeds anew.

He will find home. He needs no directions.

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She sits there on top of her terrace,
Overlooking the valley, the river, feeling that breeze hit her gently..

she has seen it before, the valleys, deep, dark and dangerous, only now can she smile - looking back at all the adventures it took to come here!!

The hills, the views are much richer, deeper and more alive after she has seen them at their real self, she has become friends with them now.

It was not like this when she first encountered valleys, gullies of rapids, the dense darkness of reality.

The snatches of light were her time for a treasure hunt,
And it took her many bruises, many bandaids, falls to get to that orb of light...

The curly haired girl, now standing on the terrace is now also a veteran of many wars!
Her smile is a manifestation of many adventures and in her library of thoughts lies a huge treasure trove of light...

It's a pilgrimage that she has gone through, a purging that she has seen and she now whispers her story to the winds, clouds and rains - to spread them far away to the world, hoping to give that orb of light to someone struggling in their own valleys!!

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Her eyes are like the ocean,
Calm at most times, but raging with fury when provoked.

Her eyelashes open and close, drawing me like how the waves reach the shores beckoning me to them.

I sit by the shore now, not yet daring to swim in her eyes. I wait for her to let me in..

My tent is by the shore,
I have never swam before.

-Pungidasa

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Pungi GPT poem

It's in my goal sheet,
To kill mosquitoes daily!
It's in my goal sheet to show growth in this art, grow efficiently, and sound professional.

It's in my goal sheet,
To kill a minimum of three everyday.
Some days I go an a rampage, somedays I listen to the poetry they sing just beyond reach!

They come to in my dreams,
That standup meeting that I dread. I need to update this sprint ticket.

Show them screenshots, my bloodied hands and more.
There is no KT,
no sir none at all.
Just on the job training.

There is sometimes a gift voucher, if targets are met.
I have bought myself a mosquito bat.
All that work in the night shift, I could audition for the IPL now.

My rise in fame has got me very few friends, but on Linkedin I get a lot of comments, certificates and more.

But my wife asks me to ask for a raise,
But my manager says - this is already too much, we sent you onsite didn't we. To the next building, given you recognition, but why now, it's recession.. No one is getting a hike...

I hit mosquitoes for a living, killing bugs my friend is a tough gig.. but nothing seems to be working.

I am unsure of updating my resume, who my friend shall give me a job?
Who shall employ this bug killer.

But my goal sheet says, I need to make a patent.
But my goal sheet says - automate the swing on the bat.
I will be replaced I am sure.

It is in goal sheet, to work with other teams, draw rangolis in fun at work meetings, they all ask me - sing us the mosquito anthem, share us those jokes that the mosquito whispers.

They even have a name for me, the Undertaker!
I kill mosquitos for a living,
Not worrying about my carbon footprint.

It's in my goal sheet my friend. It's in my goal sheet!

I am an atheist,
But I shall be judged by the God of the team, against a tablet of checklists.

I shall have to claim,
lo behold, I have conquered thirty thousand mosquitoes, all the while sounding narcissistic.
Always the God shall reply,
But you missed that Fun@work engagement event or you attended one and we lost thirty hours of productivity over the year!

What do you know of my goals, I am searching for happiness.

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