Seven in the morning in the Chintadripet quarter, and on the next street are women with their baskets on the pavement before them, threading jasmines on string to be measured out to the lengths of their forearms. Here, wire cages
Through an intensely personal experience, Jai Arjun Singh presents a story of love, loss and death in the metro, a site of alienation, growth and glass blocks. One magical day in July 2008, I saw something that widened my
I live in a city teeming with people. There are so many of us wandering around, going about our business. I see people chat away on the phone in undertones, some engaged in shouting matches and some discussing the mundane
Don’t go mad. In abject solitude, alienation and despair, a priority in the backward capitalism of the new, manufactured modernity of this fragmented nation-state, don’t go mad. Don’t enter the sea and drown in madness. Reject suicide, the first sign of
A performance of an epical scale was unfolding before my eyes. The long winding queue— some passionately discussing hir* films, some staring into nothing, some exasperated with the static queue, some just talking weather, food, sex and anything— at one
Find me another word that is not so ready. I want a word that waits and weeps and hesitates, that knows of other words I kill, and grows afraid to take its place. Find me a word that has heard
When the flooding in the basement got worse she slipped into a silly dress and danced to The Best of Nirvana. The way she fell on the divan, her arms open — The best thing for stress — you could
Feasts and hallowed days spin on orbits seldom grazing mine, till your voice swings past meridians and meteorites (Insat 2-B and Mobistar abetting) this Saturday noon to hum Happy Holi into the unwary whorls of a left eardrum. I could
On nights like these when silvery drops of rain dance with glee on my roof, bathe the flowers the grass and below, I am tucked warmly in bed with a book for company, while Barbara Streisand sings my feelings exactly,
When sleepy eyes of the night hand over charge of our world to bright-eyed sunrays, what words of greetings do they exchange? When the sun turns its face to other continents and sleepy eyes of the night cast their spell