138: An old, old post

September 15, 2017

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Hallowed Ground My memory of red-oxide is tinged with the sound it made. There was a quality of foundation to that sound. A thick fatherliness. Solidity. Perhaps it came from the fact that it was mixed directly into cement, poured onto rigid ground, ironed with persistence, dried stern, before deemed terra really, really firma. Anything […]

Posted in: Uncategorized

137: Paying It Forward

October 6, 2016

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A shamefully long time ago, girlfriend Babushka (urf Babaloobie, aka Babs) very kindly tagged me on this really nice get-to-know, that I obviously put off because one of the things I *excel* at, is procrastination. And today, since I have about two tonnes of bread-butter work to do, I decided it was the perfect time to potter about, guzzle a […]

Posted in: Memoirs, On Writing, Travel

My favourite picture of me.

September 29, 2016

13

This is my favourite picture of me. I am about 5 years old in this, and I have no memory of this photograph being taken. It was taken in the corridor of our first-floor house in Hanumanthanagar. Judging by my expression, I gather that my grandfather has taken this picture. My grandfather had a very strict idea of […]

Posted in: Memoirs

135

May 14, 2016

7

Chinni cannot even begin to list the things she hates about herself. Today, latest on that list, is a single thick strand of hair that has sprouted overnight from the mole on her chin. She hates the mole on her chin. It is three sizes too large to be beautiful, and many a friend has failed to resist […]

Posted in: Prose

134

January 25, 2016

1

On days I am unsure, I take heart in certain certainties: the gratification of popping open a vacuum-sealed bottle. The feel of my toes in my bedtime socks. The openness of a good-natured dog. Morning light on my carpets. Ghee and steaming rice and salt. This past year, I have been frequently unsure. Of my shoe size. Of what exactly a cooking instruction has meant. Of whether “this […]

Posted in: Memoirs

133

November 18, 2015

1

Habitat: A billowing of curtain A bloom of tissues A breeze of newspapers A dock of dishes The babble of kettle A whistle of window pane Eddies of fallen hair A gurgling washing machine A clap of laughter A meadow of books Crags of peeling paint A thicket of socks A tree of tired jackets A sunset of dust A marsh of spent tea-leaves An autumn […]

Posted in: Memoirs, Poetry

132

August 30, 2015

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I sat beside an old, old man on the train. His face was a careful collection of lines: big, ragged brackets mounted on top of each other. The entire time, he sat with an indulgent smile, his shining cheeks prodding his eyes to shut and truly savour his joy a little longer — because before him, stood his apple-faced granddaughter. He held a delicate sweater […]

Posted in: Memoirs, Travel