a wail rose up in the calm late afternoon air. the tail end of it came stalking into the room with the plump little girl, who threw herself on the bed, burying her face in the cushion lying on top of the carefully covered pillows. the wail turned into a smothered whimper now, though as far as the calm of the afternoon was concerned, both had the same effect on it. “oh ma, why’re you behaving like that? what’s the…
everything is complex, nothing is without its politics, yet when the voice you know so well does its familiar lilt and stretch and sound segues to the next hit song, or you seize and peruse the toy that’s just popped out of a toothpaste box, that joy, that spike of thrill, there’s no complication in it. no politics either. which is why perhaps the mind grabs it all and puts it away in a safe place, knowing one day, it’ll…
it was a couple of years ago i think, that a good friend of mine said, since i loved sarees so much we should go to chettinad together. chettinad? i was surprised. what did chettinad have to do with sarees? chettinad was about chicken with a distinct peppery taste, which no matter how many recipes i looked up on the net, i never seemed to get right. it was about food: spicy, aromatic, delicious. it was about the famous chettiars…
can ads change the world? i have no idea. should advertising, a clearly commercial pursuit, even venture into discussing things that matter a little more than buying the next thing… again, i don’t know. but as a copywriter, i often felt you could add something to your story… a little kindness, a bit of laughter, some protest even if the time for that had come. just a feeling. of course, there are public service campaigns, but i am speaking more…
ravan was chasing me. he had ten heads and ten faces and ten sets of teeth bared as he sprinted effortlessly, bow and arrow in hand. his skin was swarthy, his eyes bulged, his hair blew wildly in the wind. i could feel my breath getting shorter and shorter, till there was practically no breath left. my feet were tired. my head was hurting. how would i ever come out of this alive? then i remembered something. i stopped running.…
cap pistol (remember those?), rahul dev burman, new clothes, midnight movies, razia sultan, drumbeats, ghugni, exams, flowers in my clasped hands. the one with ten arms comes to my mind on many things. she’s been around for a long long time, quite taken for granted, part of life. to be worshiped, to be gazed at in awe, to be surrounded by noise and joy, to be danced and acted before, to be rejoiced with food and friends, to be prostrated…
steam rose in quiet swirls from the tea cup. the sky was cloudy, a faint hint of tea leaf in the air. it was almost 8am. allyrie swung past the second ellipse and turned toward trudon high. in the depth of her manah, she saw licks of myriad hues, a gushing sound came closer. was there a flood of vyrka on trudon high again? there was no time to ponder such things though, allyrie was on her way to…
i’ve burnt with you slowly, sustainedly in scorches, in conflagration in flames i have burnt with you incinerating cremating my remains watching the ashes fly the embers spark and call on cataclysm to catch fire and burn again i have burnt with you been torrefied and returned to original dust indrani’s index …
i don’t think the “god’s own country” campaign had started when i first went to kerala. it was in the summer of ’89, my first trip to south india; first bangalore, then cochin. i had no idea what to expect, but a malayalee friend would always speak of the different green of his state. his voice would definitely reflect a funny kind of pride when he mentioned that. being from bengal, another “green” state, with poets and lyricists devoting many…
i don’t look at you any more for i think you’re the same every day yet you aren’t, are you the light falls differently the colours carouse at their own will there’s purple and pink some day some day it’s less orange sometimes more red than you are in the mood for there’s ochre, mocha, and blue and the shapes? what are they called wish i knew streaks and billows shimmery peaks and meadows lashes of a riotous unfettered…