So he touched me right and he touched me well Let me tremble in his arms for a spell And now I owe him a poem I think Shouldn’t my apologies be on the brink of my lips which love him so tenderly for I’m leaving soon though i watch delightfully how he sleeps like… Read More Poem
I don’t know why 3 A.Ms remind me of your joyously sinful laughter. I don’t know why my heartbeat plays itself into a painful orchestra of ecstasy and agony, every time I see fingers like yours gripping a car steering the way your graceful ones did. I do not know why I still look up… Read More The Silence Of Your Eyes
I am ‘She’. ‘She’ who no one dreams to be. ’She’ no one talks about. ‘She’ no one wants to know about. ‘She’ who lives amongst all of you, known by all of you, yet has no name in the society except the ones chosen to humiliate me. I am Chameli, Sheila, Munni, all that… Read More She
Dear Maa, This might come as a surprise, for my demonstrative abilities have been torpid since long, being the ‘quiet sloth’ of the family. Yet, there’s no particular reason for doing this. Probably, it’s the gradual change of circumstances, swiftly seeping time and some hundred- thousand miles between us that often make me wonder, ‘how… Read More A Letter To Maa
You are, after all, a sliver of this universe. A tiny minuscule speck seeking command of this infinite universe of terrible nothingness. You talk of order while stars collapse around you and planets burn themselves. Countries wage wars and sons kill their fathers. Brothers turn into addicts and corpses while sisters become blanks and pillars.… Read More Of Beauty And Of Pain
I happen to be perhaps one of those few kids from my generation who had never watched Hannah Montana till the time they gave that late night slot to it on Disney, years after it came to a close. But I always knew she existed. Because she was practically everywhere! Bags, bottles, lunchboxes, Tshirts, shoes to dollhouses. I… Read More Miscellaneous Miley
Every Dog has it’s day, literally. For Nasty, it was the day before his 2nd birthday when he decided to play ‘hide the object’ with his family. This time the object was something dark and strangely heavy. He knew his jaw was now big enough to hide something that small very easily. Wired with excitement,… Read More Every Dog Has Its Day
In the end, religion is what you choose to believe in. It isn’t what you have practiced since you could pray. Religion isn’t brothers killing brothers. It isn’t men going off to kill men in riots. It isn’t women waiting for the cold, dead bodies or children growing up as orphans, with anger and hatred… Read More What Religion Is Not
It was 4:00 PM that Thursday evening when Mary-Lisa sat down with her pen and paper. The boy next door had arranged for an envelope and stamps and had also offered to post her letter the next morning. There lay the task of putting to words all that had happened in the last 3 months… Read More The December Of My Loving
A cliff so high, you could touch the sun if you stood on your toes and stretched your hands, your back, and your neck too, a little perhaps? The clouds come and sit by your side, right on the edge where you are, sometimes engulfing you so entirely in an embrace that when they let… Read More “A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy Forever”
Artist At Work Productions 