Activists with sincerity on their tongues, burning eyes & tearful hearts. They set mine afire. I register the call of their wild cries, in the pounding in my ears. Eloquent speakers do the same. They tease out the primal me.
The odd thing is that love is a lonely, lonely experience but grief is a communal one.
Life is a cycle ride. You can twist that metaphor so many ways. You never really forget how to, even if you check out of actively doing it for a bit. It’s about balance. It’s when you stop thinking about it & just do it. Would death be when you…
Does anybody remember Sincerity? She hasn’t been seen in a long time. We read about her in Moral Science textbooks. We co-opted her name in the style of the (insincere) British as we learnt to sign letters. Sincerely, Yours. Sincerity was never in vogue. He’s come in under attack by…
I am hard to love. This is not news to me. This has been expressed in a range of ways, covert & overt, verbal & otherwise. The revelation is that it has only partly to do with who & how I am. The rest has to do with who &…
I looked up the meaning of ‘brutalise’. I discovered it means two things.1. To make brutal2. To be brutal And everywhere I looked, the first came with more explanation. We assume the quality of brutality is not inherent in people, that it is caused by having experienced such behaviour oneself….
I don’t think I grasped that a new normal would have to be a new idea of normal. I don’t know if I’ll ever travel by junta public transport again, the second class compartments, the trains & metros. By the time it may be safe to, I may not physically…
Clubhouse administration involves navigating interruptions, setting boundaries to make a room enjoyable. It’s a real lesson in reading the room.
We are raw from sharp experienceCarrying knives of words& chisels of pain My jealousy is smoothly curvedAnd you stick pinpoints of insight into itLeaving them to harden overnight Then, as I ripple its edgeswith vulnerabilityYou fill the holes with trust I chip away at your craggy, unformed notionsAnd sand-blast the…
My calling card is a color. One dab gives you a peek into a thousand stories, my stories. Ugly Duckling. SlumdogCinderella without a Fairy Godmother. Poor thing. Wear dark colors, the fashion mags advised. So I sat in navy, black & grey boxes. You’re ugly, he said, the pretty girl’s…