The Devil Wears A Tattoo
To think all those years ago I trained myself to get over the sheer indignity of unfamiliar words. The devil can be too smart for her own good.
Almost-Relationships
It is a day for almost-relationships. I woke up thinking of a blogger-friend I met only twice but imagined at our first meeting itself that we were great, great friends. Haven’t kept in touch but the feeling stays. If only we were in the same continent, if only I’d made…
A Nostalgia Fetish
Indulge in the nostalgia fetish. Cherish enhanced memories over physical experiences. Filtered to fit the mind’s eye, memories are the distilled essence of reality.
Neanderthal Woman
Watched a re-run of my old favorite show Ally McBeal. On this episode Ally’s firm defends a man who has slapped another man for daring to insult his date. Let’s start again. The situation was as follows: Man 1 and Woman go to a party together and get to kissing….
City | Fiction | Relationships
55 Words: Ray Of Light
He looks at her from the corner of his eyeThinking she won’t noticeSecretly hoping she willSo secret, he won’t even admit to himself She feels his lookLike sunlight, warm on her cheeksHer eyes stay downcastShielded from his blinding gazeWarmed nevertheless by its intensity Then it starts to rain.
The Myth Of Virginity
The thing that bothers me is that people confuse virginity with purity and use the first to prove the second. Please, people, let’s get this straight: Virginity (or rather, the state of never having had sex) is physical, purity is spiritual. Really now, aren’t we all adult enough (and that…
Romantic Setting
It’s a filthy city, no doubt, strewn with plastic waste. But when you have someone real to walk with you, even a walk through a plastic world can seem romantic. Apparantly romance has nothing to do with beautiful places and comfortable surroundings. Who says Mumbai is not romantic? This is…
Escapist
How to be an escapist in the all-seeing 24 x 7 internet.
My love is the thorn on the red, red rose
If love were a poem, I’d be an ode to your being.
If love were a song, I’d be a serenade to you.
If love were a painting, I’d be a blind artist.
55 Words: Pot Of Gold
A short tale in 55 words. Her parents say that she was born talking. Then she discovered writingEnglish grammar compositionsStories and poetryLetters and emailsChats and instant messagingSMSes, Orkut scrapsResumes and reports Then she stumbled onto bloggingAnd anonymous postingEven editing and deletingAnd much later, private publishing But silence is yet to…