An essayist, novelist, short story writer and poet, I term my aesthetics Yogic Realism. I've been called variously, "T.S. Eliot mixed up with Rabindranath Tagore" (The Halifax Chronicle Herald) and “One of those rare poets who gets the recipe of humanness exactly right” (Canadian Literature). I use prepositions and words unorthodoxly, but that is what poets do. I was born on the eastern bank of the Demerara, a South American river named by the Dutch, a river that has given its name to the finest cane sugar—and rum. My ancestors and their community sailed from India more than 175 years ago and have tarried up and down the Americas, in Europe, Africa, and even down under. In them and all they, and I, have touched and been touched by, and the poetry that percolates in my being, I consider myself, "a fortunate traveller." Thank you for visiting.