Browsing All Posts filed under »Memoirs«

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 […]

My favourite picture of me.

September 29, 2016

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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 […]

134

January 25, 2016

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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 […]

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November 18, 2015

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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 […]

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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 […]

The Ways We Leave

October 19, 2014

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You know you have left only when you come home again. You are greeted by the smell of garlic in hot oil. Of the smell of your mother’s Sunday henna ritual. The smell of your grandmother’s evening flowers gently nagging your grandfather’s morning aftershave. You are warmed, welcomed, then shocked by the smell of your home, a smell that you […]

New White Rain

July 20, 2014

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A version of this appeared in Mint Lounge on July 19th, 2014. Do click through for more deets on planning your own trip there! — I was 27 years, one month, and three days old when I touched snow for the first time. It had been a long wait. I had taken an overnight bus […]