Monthly Archives: August 2007
Half of everything, and autorickshaws
Autorickshaw rides in Delhi are not without their peculiar annoyances and romances. In the dark, you cannot really wave them down. You call out “Auto!” in the general direction of everything and hope that the auto you find will take … Continue reading
Filed under Cities, India, Photographs, Rants and Rambles
Poem: On Tamil Love
Words like love make him cringe. Instead, like all good Tamil folk, he adores. Or is in constant adulation. Imagining his lover as a film star or a politician. His heart is large, and she is too thin. She must … Continue reading
Filed under Poetry and Fiction
Today I am heartless and old
Yesterday while gulping hot momos in a mall in Gurgaon, I was suddenly struck by how similar many of the younger girls looked. It’s possible that I am older and therefore jealous of these nubile young things, and find ways … Continue reading
Filed under Photographs, Rants and Rambles, Self
Weather, music and QSQT
Just as I finished cribbing about the weather, it swirls around and changes completely. The sky is a strange brown-tinged cloudy mess. You can smell the thunderstorm a few miles away. Sometimes it starts with a dust storm, sand flying … Continue reading
Filed under Music, Film and Art
Going home, heat and drama queens
How can flying to India be devoid of drama. Hobbling on one functional foot, struck by the delay of the trains, I made it to the airport well in time to check in and buy chocolates thanks to Mumbaigirl. The … Continue reading
Filed under Cities, History and Monuments, India, Photographs
Poem: Paattu Class
Amma, I am confused. The teacher today kept singing about some lotus feet. It makes no sense. How can anyone walk with feet like that? I don’t like music. I will not go for paattu classPaatu Class – Music Lessons. … Continue reading
Filed under Photographs, Poetry and Fiction
Fiction Fragment: Perfumes and Mothers
Jayalakshmi isn’t very used to buying perfumes. Going from counter to counter, saleswomen wave little white wands of perfumed paper under their noses. She finds these smells overwhelming. Her grandmother thought that perfumes were sluttish. Well, sluttish or not, the … Continue reading
Filed under Photographs, Poetry and Fiction