The grasshopper clicks his head rubbing the wiry hands together. He rolls his eyes and wriggles the green body. Spring is upon them, its brilliance unfurling in the tendrils of the guava leaves, in slivers of green shards that defy the dry brown patches on the ground, where the ants still toiled and trundled in…
On reaching 100
Thank you bloggers.
The tool kit
now all I gotta do is write that book! I don’t wanna write in 5 months I don’t wanna write in 5years I am not in a race to finish first. I wanna finish when I finish even if it takes a lifetime. I just want to write that one book that I know is…
In need of little insanity
If you are reading a book at a public place and happen to laugh uncontrollably, are you threatening the sanity of the place thereby exposing yourself to the dangerous situation of being craned off to a nearby asylum till you finished your book? If so, can you please leave the address of such a place…
Reviewing Paris Review
Reading about different writers in Paris Review and their writing environment and styles in writers room series provided an illuminating read, a sneak peek into their lives, it is interesting how we all draw heavily from our society when we write. The writings of Annie Proulx mostly seem to have a setting of country life,…
My fav passages..
This passage is from “The Hitch hikers guide to the galaxy” by Douglas Adams. In the scene the character Arthur Dent’s house is about to be demolished, the bulldozers have arrived and he’s protesting Mr. Prosser said, “You were quite entitled to make any suggestions or protests at the appropriate time, you know.” “Appropriate time?”…
Love
It’s twisted like a knot Somewhat frayed at its ends It’s like a ball sometimes Hit straight at your stomach With much force And sometimes it’s like poison Spreading to each and every cell of your body Stinging it like thousand needles struck at the same time And you say love is gentle Maybe we…
Point of view
The moldy smell of old decaying wood hit you as you entered the tiny unkempt premises of the Smiths. The boundaries of the lawn had overrun the house or maybe it was the other way round but neither looked any better for it. The rooms were on the first floor accessed by a rickety flight…
Mr. Chatterjee
Mr. Chatterjee had taken Quarters near the Stadium, the cheaply available ones that came with a shared bathroom for its lodgers. The house was owned by a dog, probably a half-breed for it displayed some characteristics of a gentleman and some of a drunkard along with an old man who reeked of alcohol and dog…
Story about marriage
when i first wrote this story I titled it ‘begining of a story’ but it gave a sense of incompleteness to it but I’d be darned if a story about marriage could ever be a complete story. So I present a complete incomplete story with a simpler title this time.
Lack lustre virtues
Certainty is a fickle thing rather unromantic one would say. Some would even insist that it’s dry, and lacking in depth and character. Well I am most certain that it ain’t something I would fancy. It certainly seem like a fairly unwarranted virtue flung about by some reckless traveller passing by the planet laying his…
Writers block
Pain indeed makes for a great recipe for writing. It has the intensity of flavour and aroma of despair. It clings to the palette like umami and refreshes the memory like mint. It gives an unholy satisfaction when served cold and arouses multiple layers of pleasurable despondency when piping hot. Writhing, seething, hurting, fetishes that…
To the writer
Freedom comes in different shapes and sizes Some with secret rendezvous and passion some with fun and and experiments some demanding death and sacrifice some with exhilarating emotional outbursts and some entirely idiotic but who is to say it holds no meaning All fits the brief All just as frenzied Just as punctuated with rebellion
steam engine
A lull A pause A hiatus Slowly the train rumbles again chugging its way down the peaks of Zermatt. White snow has engulfed the landscape incubating life and its offshoots. Waiting, pulsing, slowly slithering across the white moves our train in search of a glimmer of sun.
Morning Cafe
Cafe Black Beans usually opens at seven in the morning and caters to the highly focused strollers, joggers, newspaper boys, janitors and doctors off the night shifts or someone like me who wasted all their efforts and energies in the night. I like to sit at the right flank of the cafe. It is that…
Being silly
I paid eighty rupees for a sixty seven rupees coffee today, which meant I left a tip of thirteen rupees. I don’t know why I did that, when I come to think of it thirteen is not even a favourable number for many. For all I know, the waiter that I tipped could be a…
Fan fiction/Thomas Hardy
An ode to my favourite author Thomas Hardy/Fan Fiction