“Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I did not die.” I am the leftover tea in the kettle, in the kitchen of the house, that you set on fire, because I prayed in green. I am the broken ribs of the boy, who lay dead with a cap on… Read More “I am your Republic.”
‘I promise.’ It was dark and silent. I could barely hear maa’s sniffles, over my heart knocking on the walls of the cage that was built of rotten flesh and stitched skin- I could barely see baba’s eyes, turning red and teary, as he looked away from me, staring into the void, running out of words to… Read More I promise.
last night in my dreams, I screamed aloud, ‘freedom, freedom, freedom!’ my lover lying naked next to me, his hands wrapped around my neck like a noose about to tighten on my life, and choke me to oblivion- woke up, startled! he was drowning in worries, and miseries, trying to loosen my anchor, trying to… Read More f r e e d o m ft. love
The appearance parade I am a woman, and tellings told, when I was months old- how my skin should drape itself around the curves and motions of the hollow skeleton, smeared with blood, and uneven smothering of flesh, here and there, and here again. I am a woman, I said today, without any… Read More My Appearance Parade ft. m i r r o r
I have grown up in a small town, in a house that was rented, in stories that have been imbibed by me, aurally and not written. I grew immensely fond of reading books, in the later years of my childhood. My mother was my favourite story-teller. I today take turns to tell her stories about… Read More Mahabharata : An Epic In Illustrations
In 1846–1847, Emily Brontë wrote Wuthering Heights in the parsonage of the isolated village of Haworth, in Yorkshire. There is a war, within your heart when you read this book. Wuthering Heights leaves you in a turmoil of emotions, and makes you stop, gasping for breath, and read over and over certain lines, to fathom what it… Read More Emily Bronte : Wuthering Heights