All Posts By

indrani robbins

indi

the doormat that refused to be treated like one

This one might have been called, “how to ruin a perfect morning by insisting on seeing what one should have turned a blind eye to”, or “what do you mean the doormat won’t budge?”, or “who needs a gym when you have a doormat?” the options are many but they all come down to one thing: a doormat. one with its heels firmly dug in, into the marble at that. This would not be a good moment to remind me…

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Film

dangal has me flying in the air

it’s a beautiful film and i almost didn’t see it. of late, hindi films somehow don’t make contact. dangal took me down straight and left me a bit winded and giddily as well as deeply happy. deeply happy because of the girls. really, four little tornadoes or “syckalone” as the song says. giddily happy thanks to the ambush of emotions by some seriously good story telling, oh so missing in movies these days. the true story out of haryana where…

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Poetry

the queue

you are green bamboo forests bending in the evening as i fear its creatures and shiver to its call you are the wide surging river, sand banks ever stretching the long bridge crosses and takes me to the other side you are the three cornered toy in moghalserai station and the sound of a coal engine screaming in the night you are the twisting grey road up the steepening mountain rhododendrons fiery by its side, my breath held tight you…

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Espresso Shots

sunday tale

“i think,” said the frog, frowning wisely, “you start feeling freedom once you have lost something…” it paused and gazed up at the sun moodily, then added a final word with an air of authority, “forever.” the lavender swayed as it laughed, a throaty provocative sort of laugh, “a loss, really? of what? or of whom? and why should loss make you feel free?” who’d have thought the slender spike of pale mauve flowers with those soft, intricately detailed, delicate…

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road to singapore

reindeer on orchard road

the lights are up. they’ve been up for a while now. it’s almost december and this is orchard road. how could the lights not be glittering along the 2.2 kilometres sacred to serious shoppers everywhere. i gaze around at the blue and white reindeer swinging overhead, christmas trees twinkle in green, gold, cobalt blue, red, tiffany blue. fairy lights sway from the tall angsana trees near paragon. it’s almost 7.30pm on a thursday evening, traffic is getting clogged, people run…

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Espresso Shots

sunlight through the shutters : a short story

she hadn’t seen it coming, she hadn’t even slightly considered the possibility… not in a very long time, that is. how long had it been? olivia frowned abstractedly, sitting on the edge of the bed. her breath had a shiver in it as she inhaled, but she let her mind go back all the way to the first time she’d seen avi… abhik. he was in a printed navy shirt, it was snug around his wide shoulders and chest, he…

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road to singapore

a cemetery in kranji : road to singapore

a feeling i guess doesn’t lie. nor does grass gently rolling down the slope; nor do flowers by silent stones, nor stones standing in rows, saying things that i hope i heard. there was a watchfulness about the sky… as if it wanted to know something. for some reason, i wanted to go to the war cemetery at kranji around remembrance day this year. i say for some reason because i’ve never been too aware of the second world war…

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Arshi OS/SS : Short and sweet

no media, please : an asr khushi one shot

“no, aman, complete media ban… that’s it… what?!! main ne kaha na, nobody, no newspaper, magazine, channel.. no a no b, no z… no one. i want complete silence for a while. please make sure that happens.” he finished his call abruptly, picked up his jacket, shrugged it on smoothly, and turned to leave the room. “khushi!!!” he called out, obviously in a hurry, “khushi, where are you… i’m getting late!” “thahriye… ek minute, ek minute,” she rushed in from…

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Arshi OS/SS : Short and sweet

the break of day : an asr khushi one shot

the night closed in around the white mercedes-benz suv as it shot through the empty after hours roads. there was a slight drizzle building up to something more falling lightly onto the asphalt, the large old trees, and the pretty landscaped circles of new delhi. dark windows sat behind high walls and rolling lawns, the rich part of town. he drove without seeing a thing, eyes fixed straight ahead, hands gripping the leather of the steering wheel, knuckles white, his…

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sarees tell stories

the nizam of mangalgiri

i didn’t even wait to iron a blouse. i had to wear one of the five sarees instantly. my husband had just returned from his trip to the chilli fields of india in guntur and cuddalore with bags of dry red chilli and the sarees. there they were, the sheets of newspaper around which they’d been folded lay on the floor, i had shaken them out impatiently. there was no carry bag or box. when he said to me he’d…

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