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"Inside my shirt ,an old sea breeze blooms " Pramodh writes after sketching a vivid potrait of the sea and the land where he once flourished. This is our story too ,ones who left behind memories on an ancient shore and migrated to boxed life inside tin drums of the city . "Hycinth that floats by , Cradling air -pockets in the heart ". Is this the measure of dense solitude that he portrays in a " Single file ". Onward ,the poet goes on to ask .. "Would the solitude mumble ? Stutter? Is it a souffle ? light and feathering Or a quiche ? Crusty and crisp ." Like an intervel between two sounds -Silence . This solitude , I hope is an interval between two bright and bubbly happy din. "Mind the monkey " cannot be read at one go .one poetry at a time in a day ,sinking into the image he draws , and another poem on a rainy evening and it's fragrant pertichor.