Sunday, May 28, 2017

The End

Dear Reader
This blog was a hobby, a way of living and a platform for sharing the writing experience and also of expressing personal and collective angst. For a while, I want to take a break from this habitual outpour of personal details....:-)

Maria Joy

Drops of Youth

In tiny glass bottles, they sell drops of youth,
At exorbitant prices and dreams of perfection.
The words persuade, I decide to buy some
Just to check out for an overnight miracle.

Drops of youth, she claims can cure your scars.
Can melt away your acne-scars and pimples;
The girl mutters guessing my Achilles' heel
The need to have perfect pimple-free skin.

While I read her compact and eyeliner,
The perfect matte and the Absolute range
And think of the many things I have tried-
Diet, facewashes, scrubs, oils and whatnot.

Yet I'd love to keep an old belief of this land,
That they're brought on by an admirer's eyes.

Friday, May 19, 2017

Euphemistic desire: Dear Diary

Today, I heard a transgender writer speak of her genitals as if it were the most natural thing in the world, her lips curling to the words my vagina, my breasts, my body and the crowd listening as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I don't know how many among the men would say my penis or how many among the women would dare to say my vagina or my breasts except in a very clinical sense.

Our world has ways of putting words to complex things but not something as simple as your sex or mine or theirs, your desires or mine or theirs. Stronger than the feeling of finding nicer labels for all private parts was the feeling of curiosity about how she has lived with courage when many a man or a woman with ordinary lives might have crumbled before life's ordinary struggles.

Thoughts listening to Kalki Subramaniam

The here and the now

You and I were always like this, spending time together without demanding much from each other, what others think as necessary. I think our priority was togetherness first though we belonged to two different spaces altogether. But when I look back, I am amazed by the thoughts that we shared though we were so distant and by the kind of support that we were to each other.

Nowhere but here that's what I wrote when I thought whether you might be wondering where I was, being away from you. Now, in the present space, when such togetherness is no longer existent or real, I look back with wonder at the beautiful days that we had spent together, weaving dreams out of words.

Wednesday, May 03, 2017


This is the story that I have always wanted to write, the story of you and me, not just the pain of parting and break-up, but the sunshine and laughter and a few moments that remain clear like the bright blue sky above me on this beautiful day, unusual blue that stands out with little wisps of cotton clouds. What all fears did we hold out in the palm of our hands that when we reached and spoke with our hands held together, the fears spoke aloud and we could not stop the hands from finding and fighting the fears by melting into each other but time came and took it all away and our love was not writ in stars, but only in water, our love was written in only in water. Yet the love that hands founds and the body vaguely remembers could not remain in the sudden tides that took us apart. We wave desperate, deaf and blind, on either shore, having burnt boats and with tears, shout to each other, helpless.

Pensiamento Fantastico: The Kitchen God’s Wife

Amy Tan’s novels serve as cultural documents that describe the immigrant experience in terms of communality and identity. They con...