I was watching an episode of ‘Kim’s Convenience’ where a concerned (possibly over protective) family is talking to their daughter about her love life. One of them asks, “Does he treat you well?” And I realised no one had ever asked me that. Not family members, not friends, not classmates, peers or anyone who has ... Read More
The first ebook I ever bought was ‘Cuckold’ by Kiran Nagarkar. It had come highly recommended by the man seated next to me at a literature festival. A stranger, the two of us bonding in those sudden intimacies that are the magic of city life (if you don’t try to make them into something more). ... Read More
We have to separate the feeling from the person who inspires them. We are so literal, we use the words “my love” to describe a sentiment as well as a person. But our feelings are entirely our own, to process, to draw from for poetry, to express in our ways, to take responsibility for & ... Read More
Flirting feels like a massive party I haven’t been invited to. A concert that’s playing all around me & everyone’s vibing to it, except me. I can’t hear it, I can’t see it. I can pick up when people are attracted to me but that’s from years of being the target of predatory attentions. It’s ... Read More
When you go long enough turning scars into art, you start thinking of wounds as poetry. And the cacophony of imaginary voices, as the orchestra of your soul. You seek out people who call you beautiful when you bleed. People who willing aid you in that process, a little too willingly. I’ve avoided spaces & ...
There is something about living your best self that draws in other people. We call its wonderful parts, inspiration. The pleasure of watching someone achieve their dream, follow their passion, be happy. But it also pulls in darker sides of humanity. Microaggressions like insincerity, barbs, sarcasm, condescension. Boundary violations like stalking, hero worship, objectification. Dangerous ... Read More
I thought about people who hit me. In plural. I experienced enough before adulthood. Yet at 23, when a man I loved hit me, I knew something was wrong. Was it the force of his blow across my face, ears ringing for 6min, long pause to register its wrongness? Or was its public nature- a ... Read More
How many things shall I grieve? I was watching THAPPAD. I thought about the people who have hit me. In plural. I had experienced enough of it before I touched adulthood. Yet, at 23, when a man I loved hit me, I knew something was wrong. Was it the force of his blow, right across ... Read More