• Smiley face

If the city of Banaras were a man, he would be a primitive saint with a penchant for debauchery, the kind of man who would derive as much peace and joy from meditating and standing on one leg in the middle of a freezing river as he would in cracking bawdy jokes in a whorehouse while injecting himself with a cocktail of drugs. He’d be a man who bathes in the Ganges to wash away his sins and then sins by defecating in the same holy river, forming an endless cycle of sin and redemption; a man who would cover his body with ash from a burnt corpse; a man whose idea of makeup would be dabbing cow dung and drain water on his cheeks and sandalwood paste and red tilak on his forehead; a man whose house would be teeming with middle-aged, white-sari-clad widows, eccentric, old bachelors in tattered half sweaters, naked tantriks drinking liquor from skulls and dancing merrily around burning bodies, and other such strange seekers anxiously searching the narrow lanes of his sprawling, gothic mansion for death, life, religion, enlightenment, redemption, or a child to screw.
              Excerpt from Siddharth's debut novel 'The Virgins'

About Siddharth

Siddharth Tripathi was born in Allahabad and schooled in Banaras. He is a B.E from NIT Trichy and an MBA from MDI, Gurgaon. Siddharth currently lives in Gurgaon and works as a consultant for a business advisory firm. He also writes a blog on music and films. The Virgins is his first novel.

About the Virgins
Siddharth's music & film review blog
About Selected poem
I need to talk

I need to talk
but i can only peek
through the thick pink
muscles of my fathead

This is a selection of poems by Siddharth.

The Deviant

I caught a cold and flu
Instead of being tucked under the sheets
With a steaming cup of Bournvita and a Tintin
I found myself a stranger
In a home I once proudly called my own
My wife: mother of a three month old
My son, the smiling, cooing baby I love
They disappeared
Behind a wall of liquid disinfectants
I was sent to recuperate
In a dank corner of the house
No, I didn't feel like a prisoner crouched in a dungeon
Au contraire, I had the warm glow of a poet shunned
The thermometer said that wasn't normal
But I smiled and read a book that didn't judge me
I read till my eyes hurt; I sneezed loudly
I steamed, I ate medicines, I smelt of Vicks
I was careful
I hid myself under the covers
Like an unwelcome pest
I roamed the unfrequented night
Then one day, my son sneezed
Then he sneezed again and again
Isn't that unfair; I felt deceived by the germs
Who flew against my wishes
Who somersaulted about the house
To catch my poor baby unawares.

Moon in My Sky

the moon in my sky
and i, we were talking before
the eclipse, he said,
"You must remember this -
the seeker should pay
all the liquor bills"
he moved his fingers
in slow motion through
the news, he shivered
waiting, wondering, wanting
as it grew darker,he said,
"Sunscreen ain't good with the sun"
i hailed a cab, the
moon reflected on the road
a last ditch attempt
to throw some light on
the history of forgotten potholes
to be there but not quite
to be in the distant blur
is destiny
for the moon in my sky.

The telescopes all point

The telescopes all point
To the number man
And the number man says
You got to change your name
The bells been shushed by the priest
It's distracting he feels
The Gods are sleeping
They've never been awake
Cities in my mind are remolding
This year is to meditate monk like
Like the life vests under my seat
Waiting, maybe expecting a crash.

Gurgaanwa My Love

i don't
no i don't want to
eat herbed chicken calzones
i don't want your
4 side open flats
with a club
in Sector 84,
and i don't
want to know
who vacationed in Morocco
it depresses me
i went to whiskey land
with masala peanuts
my only friend
and i sort of like
my Wagon R
its done 40K
and it has got new tires
it's a damp day today
in wild, wild Gurgaanwa
the sprinklers will come on
in a short while the mall lights
too, the movies and popcorn will
tumble from the sky
and when it rains
Ganesha will seek shelter
in a micro-brewery
where he won't be let in
politely, he'll be told
he's not wearing shoes.

fond of oranges

i think they should let me be
i have a cold, my eyes are streaming
the sun is out and i've grown fond of oranges
the sages who said "i told you so",
are all giggling, peeling off their skin
they knew, as if in a shroud of smoke
we'll be there when all of them are gone.

News And Events
Write to siddharth
Drop us a line using contact form below