Ajji’s house

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I was on my scooter,

Going to my Ajji’s house. 

My Grandmother’s house 

Will always remain special. 

It was a windy evening,

The sun had already set.

This cloud came out of nowhere

And soon it started raining heavily. 

It had been a while

Since I had last seen her,

And that melting smile of hers. 

I used to think, then, that my work was more important. 

Completely drenched in rain,

I ran inside the house,

And before I could enter,

Two wrinkly hands emerged from the door. 

In one hand, a crisp towel. 

In the other, a cup of steaming coffee. 

In the evening hue, filtered by the sheets of rain,

I stopped and observed her face,

A warm melting smile welcomed me. 

By Arjun Kramadhati

This is me. As Charles Bukowski would put it - born like this, born into this. I don't like to talk about myself. I am afraid this is all you are getting now. I like to express myself through my poems, and stories and very soon another novel. I love you, my darling reader. So read on.

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