Recursion

You know what a whale call sounds like, right? So, a whale call is something that enthusiasts would use words like surreal and ethereal to define. I don’t think I have told you about this before but hearing that sound just curdles my blood. I am deep under the ocean, with my limbs whirring in…

Karineela

I happened to read a novella by K R Meera. Karineela. Dark blue, it roughly translates to. It talks about Sin. Sin as sweet as my lover’s honeyed skin, as black as the night, when it was committed. She talks of infidelity. She likens herself to a serpent spreading the venom of debauchery. She talks…

Conversations 6

“I hope you are happy.” A comfortable bubble of silence was burst by her shrill, needle-like voice. “I would like to think so,” I replied, in jest, almost nonchalantly. “Let me rephrase. I hope you are happy about what you did to her.” “We are not going to have an argument about this now. We…

Conversations – 2

I opened the tap and waited for the bathtub to fill. I have recently been trying to focus my attention on things around me instead of floating around like a ghost. I tried paying attention to the gurgling of the tap water, the ripples forming on the surface and the way they gradually drift apart…

Conversations – 1

‘What are you writing?’, she asked as she sat by me on the sofa, making herself comfortable. The coffee in her mug wobbled precariously as she tried to snuggle into me. I steal glances at her as she keeps fidgeting. ‘Are you done?’, I ask in a voice laced with sarcasm. ‘Yep. So. What are…

Ephemeral Philosophies – II

The silence was deafening. My mind felt like the surface of a pond on a rainy day, being peppered with inchoate ideas, incessantly. We had been sitting in the balcony for some time now. I knew F was not going to rekindle the conversation. It was up to me to silence the voices in my…

Bleed

Ernest Hemingway was once asked how he translated such intense human emotions so faithfully onto the paper. He replied that, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” This image reminded me of this line said by Hemingway, with blood splattered on the piano. It could form…

River

Could you blame the river for changing its course? A river, by its innate nature, is meant to flow as she pleases. She may nurture your fields and quench your thirst today. She may choose to uproot your hamlets and drown your dreams tomorrow. It was only in your ephemeral figment of playful imagination that…

Adieu

He saw the clouds bleed colourlessly through the translucent windows. The rattling of the downpour was muffling his senses to everything happening around him. As his eyes bled without hue, he silently thanked the rains for shrouding him from his surroundings, momentarily. As he tried to unspool the threads of his thoughts, he could see…

A second home in time.

I sat on the beach, gazing at the sun, setting across the horizon. My mind wandered, danced along with those happy surfs. It could not be confined to the space within me. My mind conspired to stretch this moment across all eternity. I had built myself a second home in time. Detached.