I went off the reading cliff in June. It’s not that I didn’t have time. I so hate it when people give me that excuse. I just didn’t seem to be able to finish any book that I started. I am currently reading 11 books at the same time! Yes! You read that right. 11.
Another poem I discovered in my Gmail drafts. Writing poetry can be cathartic and therapeutic. I must have written this poem in anger probably more than 10 years earlier. But in a strange case of deja vu, I can say that it echoes every thing I feel right now as well. History keeps repeating itself.
Nothing exemplifies the transitoriness of life more to me than the month of May. I have watched bewildered as a friendship crumbled because someone struggled to stand up and be counted. I have seen in a month that nothing we imagine is ever as it is. That we can go back on words. That we
I originally started blogging as a way of keeping alive my travel memories. Most of my blog posts were private and I never wanted to share it with the world. But I realized that memories grow with sharing. That keeping memories hidden in a corner of my world was an insult to the Beautiful Art
I have been followed by rain over the past 10 days. It has been raining almost every other evening in Bangalore and it rained when I was traveling in Bylakuppe. There are days when I wish for rain and it is answered. It’s almost like I am having a secret conversation with the Rainmaker. One
I love crows. I love that bird’s tenacity, survival skills, and sheer intelligence. I love the crow’s despicable nature, which is so human. I would happily wear a T-shirt with a crow featured on it. I loved Edgar Allan Poe’s mesmerizing refrain of ‘nevermore’ in The Raven. For months now, I have been trying to
Yesterday, while I was on the Namma Metro, I was trying to read. The book was a crime novel and I was immersed in the details of a decapitated head when the train stopped at a station. Now, I have been on many trains in different parts of the world. But the Bengaluru Metro is
I don’t consider myself a writer of poems. I used to write a lot of poems when words failed me and all I could be was to angrily scribble thoughts that sprawl into insensible metre. This was the next find in my Gmail Drafts. Unfortunately, Google re-saved it before I could check the date. So
This was in my Gmail Drafts. I have reproduced it faithfully without editing. I remember writing this story after my friend’s life. July 14, 2010, is the date. I don’t know how this friend is doing since she mysteriously decided to vanish from my life a few years ago. Some of this is fiction, but
I was clearing the Drafts I have in my Gmail folders. I am a bit strange that way. I have kept Drafts from more than 10 years ago. I have used Gmail to just jot down words as they come to me and then forgotten all about it. When my mind is restless, I turn