Dear Reader Does identifying with poetry, soaking in its flavours, feeling its rhythm on your skin, qualify you as a poet? Recently, I changed my social media bio from ‘poet’ to ‘interested in poetry’. The more I read poetry and dive into its dew-ness, the more I am aware of how far I need to …
Short Story: The Cost of Rai (Setu Journal, Dec 2024)
Dear Reader, Dropping in your inbox earlier than expected. I'm excited to share the publication of my short story 'The Cost of Rai' in Issue 9 of Setu Journal. I will look forward to your thoughts on this story, which is special to me. It brings the flavour of the hills of Garhwal to which …
Continue reading "Short Story: The Cost of Rai (Setu Journal, Dec 2024)"
Live Not in Counts
Dear Reader, The first post of 2025 will be incomplete without the mention of the quintessential New Year. And with this change of dates, I cannot help but think of our obsession with quantification. Numbers play a significant role in our lives. We have calendars that help us transition from one year to the next. …
Under the Pink Shade of the Bougainvillea
Dear Readers, I write to you from the Delhi bound Sarai Rohilla Express. As I leave behind fields and acacias and hazy white skies at a mile a minute, I cannot help but think of the subliminal message this travel conveys about the past one year. Let me take you through it. Did Covid turn …
Continue reading "Under the Pink Shade of the Bougainvillea"
In the Grip of Mediocrity
Hello! In the last post, I shared a poem with you which was accompanied by an AI image. A reader wrote back to say how they were unable to accept a creative using AI. When I argued it was only an image and the poem was self-composed, they mentioned it was still a sort of …
Listening to Stillness
Dear Reader, Winter is upon us. Literally. The lizards in my house have disappeared and there are no more mosquitoes that need swatting. They tell me that winter is the perfect time to shed busyness, to put it on hold. When we return, the world will be right there, I'm sure, hardly having missed us. …
A Hundred Quills 