This is Margo’s story. It is also Mia’s story.But it is mostly Margo’s story.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Mia was born on our terrace. But…
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Book Review: Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Silent mothers are made of Iron and thunderous fathers, of puff Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is not for the weak-stomached. She…
Discovering the Internet
This essay was also published in Esthesia Magazine. The internet dawned on me, much after, it did on my generation…
A Case for Nutella, and a Jar for others
In my house, it is normal to find a fish bone in chicken curry. Why, you ask? Pappa doesn’t believe…
Writing, Mummy and I
Three years ago, I stopped writing. I can list many reasons: I had classes and assignments, it was the pandemic,…
One man
A full moon night. Three friends, lemonades in hand, are gazing at the moon. Friend one : ” I read…
Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble
I had a strange dream. I have a lot of those, actually. G, M and I are walking through a…
In Sickness and In Health
If you suffer from migraines, you know that it does not manifest in a consistent manner. Some days I might…
Bodies in Pain: Reclaim, not Shame
Journey of accepting that my period pain was real, not imaginary or inconsequential. My deepest gratitude to Agents of Ishq…
Reading Snippets: Into the Water
A long winding river in the middle of a small town with a dark history, Danielle (Nel) Abbott, a single…
Translation : Neypayasam by Kamala Suraiyya
In the first semester of my MA program, I took a course titled “HS 491- III : Storytelling for the Digital Era”. As…
Short Fiction | Dear Sara, Love, Thresia
Thresia, who loves books, and Sara, who loves plants, are fatefully brought together in Aanjilickal tharavad, where they must traverse their broken families in order to create a new life for themselves.
Short Fiction | Of Discovery, Of Respect
August 2006 – Trousers the colour of Neelakurinji The Neelakurinjis were in bloom and people flocked from all over the…
Reading Snippets: The Idiot
Selin. You have to meet her. Selin is a young Turkish-American who arrives at Harvard as an undergraduate in the…
Quiet
I was hurrying off to help my cousins record a video when I saw amma’s orchids in bloom. I took…
Passio
Amidst the few broken pots of panikoorka and kattarvazha, a dish antenna, and a few clotheslines, the only cheerful detail…
Tamarinds and Writing
I wasn’t surprised when my aunt pointed out that I was spending unusual amounts of time indoors, avoiding sunlight and…
Lost and Found in a Palette
Some days, words don’t find me. I try, but they hide behind a sense of pining and longing and refuses…
Short Fiction | Flower, Gleam and Glow
Amma, my grandmother, was like a visitor in my life; we’d meet once in a year during vacations and call…
Short Fiction | A Wretchedly Beautiful Morning
I’ve seen toxicity and violence in relationships being glorified and justified, as saying love is hard work, and that it…
Rediscovering Kanji
This essay was first published in The Whineyard. Amma realised I was big enough to take care of myself when…
Year of the Pineapples
The year I fainted at the baths and had my first pineapple was the year the Beatles came to Japan,…