Being The Story
I ran into someone who last saw me before I went through the biggest war of my life. I had to think about how to tell my story.
Mr.Everyday
The Hidden Politics Of Book Discussion
I follow this blog-in-Facebook-updates called LABYRINTHS. Its picture-stories trigger off ideas, feelings and on occasion, memories. Today’s story is titled The IVORY BOOK CLUB and is a conversation between two people about the quality of literature. It felt like an instant frame capture from my own life and here’s what…
An Unequal Music
I read ‘When I Hit You’ by Meena Kandasamy and it brought me back to an episode in my relationship with music.
Poem For An Ex I May Have Told You About
I had a chance to get this off my chest last year. I’m so grateful for the stage giving me a chance to voice things that had been eating away my insides for too long. I’ve been silenced by well-meaning friends and others who are just inconvenienced by anything other…
Any Earthquakes Out There?
Reading an old comfort book gives recognition to the earthquakes still tremoring inside me.
I’m Looking For Our Normal, Mr. Everyday
I was Youtube surfing when an 80s playlist came up with an Amrita Singh song. It made me want to read, listen, watch and know more about her relationship with Saif Ali Khan. And why not? I am an older woman who was in a committed (and what I thought…
Old Healed Wounds That Ache In Bad Weather
At the Performance Poetry workshop I attended yesterday, we looked at some videos of performers. One of them had a few notes playing in the background and the performer speaking in a characteristic singsong, often-rhyming style. I blurted out, “But that’s rap!” The others smiled and told me that rap…
#SixWordStories: February 13th
Happy anniversary, lover.Happy anniversary, liar.
The Music Of An Ex
Your voice still terrifies me. If anger were energy, you’re a nuclear reactor. But I only saw the gravity, I only heard the pain, I only felt your fear. And inside your head, for you, I became everything I could see. No wonder you hate me. Now, every now and…
Wake Up And Smell The Bruises
I know what I saw. I know the sense of danger I felt. I know that unmistakable instinct women develop about trouble. There was something off. I didn’t need to see the bruises.