Six cups

The child, searching for any scrap of uniqueness, for definitions in her confused search for identity in the world she had landed in — and who, as I’ve mentioned before, did not have much else going on — clutched the number seven proudly to her heart, as if losing it meant losing a vital fraction of the little that set her ever so slightly apart from ordinary.

An Ode to this City

September’s warmth was on my skin,in the air that I breathed, mixedwith the odour of freshly cut grass.A long, beautiful day was closing up,I walked, my bicycle for company and the night’s omnipresence too.It was in one of those moments,simply like that, when in a moment’s pause, I stayed still, blending into the still night,that […]

Musings on a Saturday Evening

I wrote this one in Malayalam. Typing it out in Malayalam would require me to possess more patience than I could ever hope of having. So I wrote it down, in the good old fashion, and uploaded them here. My handwriting might be terrible to read, my grammar might be that of , an eleven […]