CREATIVE PIECES
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Delhi? Dilli?
I always associated Delhi with aggression, anger and impulsivity. So when I first moved to Delhi from Bombay, I always had my guard up when talking to Delhiites, not knowing which way their unpredictable mood might swing in. In all this, I began associating the nature of people in Delhi (which was not very accurate by the way- dilwalon ki delhi is true!) with the places here. Wherever I’d go, I’d point out everything I didn’t like about a place, forgetting to appreciate what was in front of me. This changed when I came across Mayank Austen Soofi’s column, which resides on the 4th page of India’s Hindustan Times, and…
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The Fountain Awards
If I become an author, I’m not extremely keen on seeing my book win a Booker or a Pulitzer. Actually, scratch that. When I become an author, I’m not extremely keen on seeing my book win a Booker or a Pulitzer. Instead, I want to see it on the streets of Mumbai, being sold as pirated copies, for basically a dime, by local vendors on a humid day. Specifically on the pavements opposite Mumbai’s Flora Fountain, where the joy of buying pirated and second hand copies of books resides. On these pavements, vendors sit with their tarpaulin tents and wooden stools while they sell these books to hungry readers. All…
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The Key Maker
The key maker seated himself, On a tiny corner in a lonely road As others greeted the new vendor, Few were warm but most were cold.
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An Absurd Account
Mr Smith greeted me with a broad smile. As usual, his face was half shaven, his coat full of coffee stains and his eyes reflecting a glimmer of parental affection.
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Aamchi Mumbai
You've healed so wonderfully, As if your wounds were never there, And yet you show them off with pride Without reminiscing in despair
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Broken Windows
Illustrated by Dhriti Guruprasad
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The Black Letters
He gingerly walked alongside the bank of Brahmaputra, consciously trying hard to hide amongst the bushes.
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Will You Be My Neighbour?
I sat in front of the television like a toddler. My hands were in my mouth and my eyes were as wide as they could get.
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The Confessions of a Murderer
It is high time I admit that I am a vicious and brutal person. I still vividly remember the first time I ever did it. My bloody hands were shaking out of sheer guilt but my lips were in a soft smile of accomplishment.
