A Price Tag on Something We Pretend Isn’t There
A tweet came across my timeline recently. It’s funny, and it’s correct, and the way it’s correct is part of the problem.
Writings
No theme, no schedule. Just whatever I stumble upon (and can't let go of).
Essays
They Didn’t Come to Take What Was Yours
There’s a specific kind of silence in a consular waiting room. You’ve been up since four because your appointment is at seven, and you took the first cab you could because the traffic here is unpredictable and if you miss this slot you lose another 8-12 weeks.
Tandoori Murgi: The Item
I was maybe 14–15. The kind of age where your body is running firmware updates every other week, and you’re basically a walking hormone experiment pretending to be a person. And like pretty much every other boy in that demographic in India, I watched item songs.
Fun. Conditions Apply.
Here’s a scene you’ve been in. A wedding, or a house party, or someone’s birthday at a bar where they’ve shoved the tables to the side. Music loud enough that talking becomes pointless. People start moving, first a few, then most, then basically everyone.
Word Lab
Attempts at defining things in as few words as possible.
Two souls,
Walking along
As one,
Down an uncertain path.
Calm and surreal
On the surface,
Troubled and tortuous
underneath.
Can't deny nor let go.
All one can do
Is to live through.
A spoon
Of desire,
With a pinch
Of doubt.
Craved for
When scarce.
Feared for
When abundant.
Keeping what you want,
Discarding what you don’t,
To weave a narrative
That you wish to believe;
for the world to hear.
Puzzle
that needs
a lifetime
of solving.
Misunderstanding
escalated
due to
antonymous influences.
Everyday, diligently;
Mother lights a lamp,
And breaks a coconut;
Daughter laughs at,
And roasts her for doing so.
They believe in different powers,
yet,
Have one thing in common.
Unimaginable.
Inevitable.
Insurmountable.