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

Posted in 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

Posted in 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

Posted in 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

Posted in 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

Posted in 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

Posted in 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

Posted in Photographs, Poetry and Fiction