Art by EV Anil I’m thinking about what you were doing now, at this moment, in 1918. When you were teaching at Sydenham College, and students liked your classes but you weren’t allowed to drink water from the same jug as your colleagues. What did you do, Baba? I am haunted by which ofContinue reading “Q for Qualification”
I thought it was ok to use them in excess, it was what made W for Writing possible. Then I saw that those who did it well, didn’t use too many. They were precise with a surgeon’s purpose. Their images flourished with little to no words. And I was left behind with the hollowness ofContinue reading “W for Words”
Have been going on and on about Siddalingaiah’s Ooru Keri in my classes forever. So pleased that I can do this now at Champaca and with two super cool women – Nisha Susan and Kiruba Devi. If you’re in the ooru – do come!
***Disclaimer and announcement both attached*** My mother grew up in a house full of children. They were 7 but it always seemed like they were seventeen. And because there were so many of them, I imagined them all in a large and crumbling bungalow with squeaky, uneven staircases. I have neither lived in this houseContinue reading “The Prof. Barbra Naidu Prize for the Personal Essay 2020 – Making Do”
As a child, my fascination with food came from watching appa eat. His temples bobbed in and out, as if a small, writhing organism was inside. Often I’d put my index finger on his temple not knowing what to expect – sometimes I felt a soft, warm dot moving in and out, and sometimes thereContinue reading “The Prof. Barbra Naidu Prize for the Personal Essay 2019 – Voyaging the Kitchen”
Why are you writing so many ‘Dalit- Dalit’ things these days? While “I’ll write what I want” is generally a good response to stick with– I’m going to explain this to you with love, (because you seem like you have the potential to be a better person) and also with swalpa sarcasm (because I cannotContinue reading “I have some answers for you”
Today I am thinking about Virginia Woolf and how old I was when I first heard ‘A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction’ I wonder if I understood what she meant when I heard it at 22. I must have smiled like I smile whenContinue reading “A room of my own”
Mouma left today and I spent the entire day feeling afraid. I have been avoiding writing. Not that I was ever writing like a mofo. But I am more afraid of writing now than I ever was. Maybe because I am afraid of writing That Story – the only story I have ever cared about. ItContinue reading “One step at a time”
I won’t lie. Even when I was imagining my grand reading plan for the 2 month long break, I didn’t believe it, which is why I must have imagined it in lovely colors like the orange of a Bangalore evening and the red of Mangalore mud. Even so, a girl can hope. Especially a girlContinue reading “The one where Gabito screws me over again”
This is a small account of the writing workshop I conducted in some very questionable Hindi on 19 Dec 2017.