Kala Ramesh




We called it the holiday of our dreams — a trip to Shimla, the hill station that belongs to the great Himalayan range of mountains. Fifteen years down the line, I still remember standing near the edge of the mountain slope — just outside our cottage, in the deep silence before daybreak. . . when identities dissolve.
Was this the void that The Buddha spoke about?
The Shunyata?

Even now I get goose pimples, when I think about it . . . as I take lingering breaths that fill the whole of my being, I ache for that oneness I thought I felt near the edge of the mountain slope . . . that day
morning raga
a honeybee attempts
to waken a bud



The Nuances

cavechested I feed you wanting to give everything I possess my child your first gulp I follow till it reaches your stomach almost a smile of satisfaction if giving is gaining a joy shared your heaving bosom

pre-nursery gate
her face, in the space between


First publishing rights: Frogpond, November 2009.

This is an experiment of interlocking words, like I felt the bond between the mother and her child to be, called “vaatsalya” the purest form of love, according to our ancient Sanskrit texts.


About Kala Ramesh