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In which I speak about “Call Me Ishmael Tonight”
SSASA 12 – “What is one piece of American Literature that shaped you?”
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Around – Ghazal
The rhythmic clinking of her bangles, rotis piling around Nagarjun’s pink bangles, wheels spinning around The smell of evening flowers lingers in the air You are saying something but no one is listening around Drink, after drink, roving eyes, hands, mouths All the misters in a desi party leering around A sweet little lie on the…
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Unpacking Salzburg Global Seminar
My trip to Salzburg to participate in the Salzburg Global Seminar’s twelfth session “Defining America: New Writing, New Voices, New Directions” at the beautiful Schloss Leopoldskron comprised of many profound moments of learning. At our Graduation Dinner in St. Stephen’s College, way back in 1999, my happy batch-mate Siddarth Correya had said that his learning in college had…
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Yes, I have an only child and it’s fine, really
Yes, I have an only child and it’s fine, really.
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Leaves – A Ghazal
It is August. Soon we will be in Autumn – Fall. I like the manner in which fall as a word rolls inside the mouth, in the end making the tongue meet the roof of your mouth. For that reason and a few other. Leaves – A Ghazal What eats you from inside gradually…
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Flowers and the bees
The joys of Amstel Park, where Bambi and I often spend hours. He hates the bees and loves the flowers, how ironical, how can one exist without the other. In the park they have a toy train that goes inside what we like to call “the deep dark woods” (a nod to Julia Donaldson). We…
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My heart is a firework
I have so much love in my heart I could drown the dining table and chairs in it They would float around the room wobbling, bobbing, from there to there I have so much love in my heart I am tossing you buoys Here, hold on, saturate in my desire for me I have…
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Conversations About Home (at a deportation centre) – Warsan Shire and Ugly
Poem: “Conversations About Home (at a deportation centre)” Poet: Warsan Shire Well, I think home spat me out, the blackouts and curfews like tongue against loose tooth. God, do you know how difficult it is, to talk about the day your own city dragged you by the hair, past the old prison, past the school…
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Jilted – Sylvia Plath
Poem: “Jilted” Poet: Sylvia Plath My thoughts are crabbed and sallow, My tears like vinegar, Or the bitter blinking yellow Of an acetic star. Tonight the caustic wind, love, Gossips late and soon, And I wear the wry-faced pucker of The sour lemon moon. While like an early summer plum, Puny, green, and tart,…
