My poetry is spontaneous, more like a gentle hill stream flowing with zest through hills and dales, gathering memories and stories woven around rustic hamlets or urban life, of simple folks, often combating harsh realities and tricky turns of fate.
My repertoire here is a novel and experimentative form, a fusion of poetry and tale, so much like a ballad but sans its definite rhyme and metre, short stories narrated with a poetic mind, in blank verse, yet lyrical and contemplative.
My women, be it Sunaiyana, Nivedita, or Suryamukhi, are not merely passive protagonists. They are women of flesh and blood picked from various paths of life, struggling for survival in an existential world fraught with ego, chauvinism, indifference, or meaningless violence.
Poetry came to me as naturally as the North wind that blows with the arrival of winter and I delved into this world as early as eleven years of age. That little girl writing limericks later grew up to write blank verses on varied themes of love, heartbreak, and the like. Gradually, as life flowed on, she matured and so did her writeups.