As copies of Stray Birds head to Flipkart...

I have never really known what to say when the topic is my poetry or my books. I mean, I could probably talk a lot about why I write poetry -- talk in a ramble, a walkabout, a meander, a dogleg... -- but talk nonetheless.

I could also say what I have said any number of times, and what is the most basic and truthful part of my poetry, that I write primarily for myself and for release.

But ask me to sound articulate, measured and meaningful and there isn't much I can say.

Maybe I am too inward looking, or then again, I am probably too artless for being measured, etc.

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I have signed quite a few copies at Goethe-Zentrum (yes, the turnout was surprising and so was the involvement of the people) and now I have finished signing some more. This lot of the copies are headed for Flipkart, where (I am told) quite a few books have already been bought (on pre-order).

I should be happy.

I am happy.

But then, this is a book of poetry...

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What exactly does success mean, in terms of writing poetry (and authoring poetry books)?

Who do you use as an yardstick to measure against?

Another "famous" poet whose book sold 100 copies?

Or someone like Amish Tripathi who has bagged a 5 Crores advance for his upcoming series of books?

Well, then again what is a poem that can be called a success? One with which everyone agrees, or one with which everyone disagrees, or one that just "works"?

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So a nice guy chases me again and again and finally meets me and asks some questions. That resulted in this 

Do take a look.

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Another birding ghoom, another fall.

That, just about sums up what happened on Saturday. I slipped and fell / slid on the bund of the buffalo wallow. And have skin that's scraped off -- on my right leg, a bit below the knee and a bit besides the ankle.

I am like, bloody hell -- again the camera and lens survived it all, thank God!

Oh yes, they did not touch terra firma, either. But I did, I did and it burns like anything -- to remind me.