I haven't sat down and written anything for a long time. I have filled up forms, written essays, research papers, and everything academic, but I haven't written prose or a poem for a long time. I just realised I had missed the freedom of having enough time to sit down, do nothing, and write. It … Continue reading On writing!
Mind it- none of us believed in borders, and to date we still don’t. All along, we had ganged up precisely because we all believed that borders are imaginary and nation states are a scam. Otherwise how would we come to a consensus of hopping into that inter-state bus from Delhi to Himanchal under that scorching Indian summer?
It always is a pleasure and more importantly a privilege to travel. To have a bunch of friends who will sweat uphill with you and be there to share the ache and the awe is something I shall always be grateful for. After a year spent on rigmarole, we ganged up for a trek. This … Continue reading An ode to our sessile friends, II
If there is a time to be wrong about anything, the best is right now. It is also a time for a lot of questions. A lot is happening as we vicariously peep into the world.I don't know what the truth is but I won't at least lie either. It is hot here in Delhi, … Continue reading Questions in the time of Corona
This will soon be over. We'll panic for a while and then the dust will settle. At least for this time. But soon, we will forget the view from the windows of the trains we took when we moved on. We will forget this vulnerability, we will not realise the delicacy of that thin layer … Continue reading Smell of a revolution
The Sun can't not rise,lest the flowers get sad. If they wiltpetal by petal,day after day,the Sun can't help-and it's sadly true-the drying of lifethat once animatedthe flesh with the hue. Each day,the bird lifts off the branch. The branch doesn't complain,it keeps the flowers home for itself.It knowsthe best of the death-bedsare closest to … Continue reading Bird and the branch
Once, i couldn't tell right from wrong and lived too lyrically in songs once I wouldn't care for anything at all I caged myself, sieved with metal. it took a minor toll on me it showed the hidden fool in me it shook off my demon's dust it filed all my scarry rust but it … Continue reading Side effects of poetry
When nothing else works, (and when is most of the times) something does. When people, places, memories and days lose their meaning; when sleep seems distant, that, goes and stays leave you spinning. Stories help. And they do it big time. To keep on sewing, to offer peace, they give you needles and threads apiece. … Continue reading Fiction as a Therapy
Love is very old. And tired. So we often leave it on its own. We just carry some shadows of love and hope of regenerating it, we steal from love some ideas of re-assembling it for our perusal from the remnants of its grey image. We are cruel like that. If there was a jury … Continue reading SOS, love.
These curvatures of buildings that will never be ours are a testimony to the mockery that life laughs at us with. These high-rises, the exclusivity they lodge their shy vices the reality they dodge, are all in all the proof that some things can never be reached some fences may never be breached Suffocate if … Continue reading High-rises
The Bittersweet Post 