Scribbles and tales
(Inspired by a girl who doesn't just drink tea, she gets consumed by it.) A wake up call, a love that’s all, A hangout buddy on a roadside stall. So many flavours so many colours, a fragrance so deep one wouldn’t recover. All this and more, for tea-lovers hardcore, except one who observes, breathes it... Continue Reading →
My father can’t dance (now he can because I make him). So he decided when I was pretty young that he’d send me to dance school. Bharatnatyam class, to be precise because Kathak was too mainstream for my parents and also because South Indians remain South Indians even after they move to New Delhi. At... Continue Reading →
A reader, calmest of the calm always by the window seat leaning on it, so slouched, no charm or any kind of upbeat. That one lady who cries loudly for her father had just passed. taking aid in the one seated next to her, even though she was outclassed. Siblings, running around and about the... Continue Reading →
There was a time when he was good to me, When he treated me like a flower. The tables soon turned, all the coins flipped, His ugly side then came to power. Smiles changed to frowns, days into weeks, When I realised there was nothing left to redeem. The songs we once used to hum... Continue Reading →
Heart pounding so hard, each second making it more difficult to breathe. Lying on his deathbed he thought, "heaven above or all the way beneath?" Would it be everlasting or writhing pain? Would everything fall apart and nothing remain? His family by his side, even the ones who just visited during the holidays. How come... Continue Reading →
My entire childhood in New Delhi was spent using hair clips throughout the day, not only because my school demanded tied back hair, but also to stick back the curled strays on top of my head that I was so ashamed of. The idea was to constantly create an illusion of having the desirable type... Continue Reading →
Crack! went the shell, A sound only few could hear. Would the hatched one dwell? Nothing but the future would bear. Not so much of a vision to see. All covered up in slime. Would something great this ever be, Worthy enough to be put in a rhyme? Slithering and sliding, Passing through the riverbank.... Continue Reading →
She is fearless, full of fear, and sometimes both. Knowing her is a splendid adventure. “If you get perplexed by the time you finish reading this, another woman in black was just doing her part.” “Praise be to Allah, the Lord of the Worlds.” said the woman in black, dressed in the hijab that was... Continue Reading →
The left handed Fiona 