Webzine
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The Old woman Under the Banyan Tree
Read more: The Old woman Under the Banyan TreeUnder an ancient banyan tree, on a concrete square sits an old woman mending torn clothes. Every now and then, she stops, reflects, looks at the world passing by and goes back to her mending, oft tending to her gashes and scars, not visible to the harried world. She inhales. She exhales, resolving not to…
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The Woodpecker and the Chair
Read more: The Woodpecker and the ChairSomewhere deep in the wilderness, there is a chair, bruised, battered and abandoned. Not needing much, just a thick layer of paint, splashed with a soft healing touch. Around her the crazy world roars and clashes with malicious gaiety. But resiliently she stands, unfazed, having taken roots there. A woodpecker pecks the tree against which…
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In Xanadu did Kubla Khan…
Read more: In Xanadu did Kubla Khan…In this neighbourhood, buildings are trees. Across the fish market, sentries guard ‘Pine leaves’. ‘Rapunzel’ is not ready. Reddish-brown bushes hide its make-shift toilet, where masons move like shadows. Rich loam is infectious. I would like to grow too. Rise high With sacks and sacks of sand and cement.
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Manicured
Read more: ManicuredThe noticeboard near the lift reads, ‘Those who ruminate, shall enter with memories of watching Saajan in 1991, churning adolescence, at their own risk.’ People run between tracks, as the train comes close. Someone cautions me, I step back. On the other side of the crossing, there are posters full of love. One, two, three,…
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Salt
Read more: SaltSalt is white, like sadness – gleaming. Salt is nothing but sadness. One-third of the Earth’s waters are actually the tears of the world, from where salt is born. Since we eat salt, our blood is salty, tears salty, sweat salty, even the heart. The heart is the storehouse of sadness, a treasury of salt,…
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Ruby Gupta
Read more: Ruby GuptaRuby Gupta’s underwear was still wet on the day of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. While collecting the laundry, hung to dry on the terrace, Ruby Gupta had noticed – the other clothes were dry, just the underwear was still wet. She was terrified. Whenever her underwear doesn’t dry, something terrible happens somewhere. Sometimes I think…
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Good Man
Read more: Good ManI suffer whenever I meet a good man because his sadness is limitless. Whenever we meet, I hug a good man and try to ascertain how deep he will sink, how deep. I caress his back whipped by the dark wind. I stare at his two lips which will be muted by barbaric distrust, and…
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From the Diary of an Old Man with Dementia
Read more: From the Diary of an Old Man with DementiaThe paucity of words doesn’t hurt me anymore. I have spent a lot of time in my grammar classes and With some half-muted friends in our defunct WhatsApp group Or for something not worth mentioning here. I would rather describe this morning in a different way, In a different language without the usual vowels and…
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The Crossing
Read more: The CrossingJust us And the bridge across the river, Nothing else between. Baby steps could have done it, But we did not venture. Watchtowers standing witness, Waves swept the moment away. We just stared, Afraid of the other side In our own silly ways. Distances we make in our minds, Never to be crossed. Bridges die…
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Shit Happens
Read more: Shit HappensShit happens All the time We are old stones to know that But when it happens On a beautiful day, On a bright, sunny-blue morning It hurts double. And then you need all you got To believe again To believe that life’s a bonus really Happy hours and all. So, shake a leg Dance a…