In the Mannagudda house in Mangalore where the tallest point of the slope touched sky and one section of houses bent their ears to gravity.
As a Tamil woman, I am fierce in love, like all Tamil women are – when they run towards their lovers with gritted teeth and dancing hair * As a Konkani woman, my laugh will match your fart — in loudness and vulgarity * As a Malayali woman, my hair is messy, like a dabbaContinue reading “30~”
Dear Mr Weiner When I think about writers, I think about you Mr Weiner, from my degree days you who proudly told everyone – ‘Yoohoo. I am a writer. I write.’ Often you wrote about yourself in third person, ‘But he was different from others. He could write. He could really write and not justContinue reading “Dear Mr Weiner”
What can I say today that hasn’t already been said – Except that I am happy 3 times, happy happy —- I could say I am glad that I didn’t stop writing Not when people laughed and cried- Not even when they played drinking games, and made bon-fiery jokes about caste and capacity —- IContinue reading “For the 300th Blog Post”
Sometimes I wish I had no ambition So that when I get back home at 8 one evening and my mother asks me why I’m not married yet I can tell her – Tomorrow I will marry. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t someone who likes spending time alone so that when my father pullsContinue reading “Sometimes I wish”
I’m falling in love with cities sooner than I’ve fallen in love with people. What is this fascination that won’t go away? My grinning childhood might be stuck here or is it my heavy, remorseful body wading through teasing memories of slow afternoons? I see my mother’s smiling face in all these cities – herContinue reading “One whistle for the city”
For all practical purposes, never let your dad fool you into thinking that you make good chai. Because generations of women have been pulled away from their desks at the prime moment when inspiration has struck. to make chai. But don’t get up. don’t leave. unless that cup is for you.
In that small room with purple walls You sat on the bed, giggling like water in a moving jug. When I tried to touch you, you slapped my hands away and giggled some more. In the bathroom, my water was ready – The door locked – the lights, dim. You banged on the doorContinue reading “In that small room with purple walls”
It begins slowly at first. And then, there is a slithering pause after which only an explosion up the thighs, and then behind the ears. Nobody dares to leave the neck behind – that’s why it was made in the first place– to feel goosebumps of velvet, tipping the eyelids into a well- now closing,Continue reading “Tipping the Velvet”
always always there is that fleeting moment when you are writing; when you suddenly become aware of time, and how much you didn’t listen to its ticking before – such an irony no? that it is in these moments when we feel no time we come out alive, like dead people out of coffins.