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To the Sri Rama Sene With Love…

14 Feb

a.k.a. In New Mexico, They Call It A Quickie With A Chickie

…after it’s gracious gesture, how can I not respond with a humble gift of words?

Happy Valentine’s Day, good people of the blog. Spread the luuhhvin’.

********

She took great pains to choose the skirt. Artsy, with careless strokes of sunflowers right above the knee. She ironed it crisply, laid it out on the bed with attentive care, and held her breath as she slipped it on straight. Sitting primly in the car, she didn’t budge an inch for fear of a lone crinkle. It worked. The sunflowers arrived at their destination as fresh as daisies.

“Boy, that was good, wasn’t it?” he said afterward, as they lay on their backs, reclaiming their breath. With damp, crushed, yellow petals strewn around her thighs, she nodded ever so imperceptibly.

*******

(Link via Piper.)

Also, check out (1) Anindita Sengupta’s response to Sagarika Ghose’s HT editorial , (2) Ammu Joseph in the Bangalore Mirror.

Ivy

12 Dec

The two are so intertwined, you can’t tell where one ends and the other rears its twin spine. Nestled in each other, they feed off the flesh, the bones, the robust spirit, offering themselves readily, even eagerly, hoping to be consumed so identities will blur. Biology calls it symbiosis. They don’t and couldn’t care less. Escapism and Survival, regardless of the price, must necessarily become each other.

History is a Halloween Party

2 Nov

a.k.a. The One in Which the Ghost is Toast

History was her favorite subject at school. The one that bumped up her social sciences average and had Mrs. Shah chastise her for asking too many uncomfortable questions.The one that had fiercely anal retentive Prof. Naqvi pardon her absence from his special brand of exam torture. The one that earned her the title ‘H-bomb Queen’. The one for which she risked being called a nerd. The one she collected extra credits for, while others collected lovers.

So when her own turned ghoulish, and swooped through cobwebbed corridors, moaning her name and breathing moldy angst on her nape, she stumbled through silent alleys on her disjointed knee, mentally zipping up that chapter, sealing the plastic with duct tape, and tossed the file backwards at him, never again glancing at his grey, disfigured face.

Or so she thought.

(…to be continued….sometime, someplace)

About Noyonika, Child of His Eyes

21 Oct

“When she first noticed Abhiveer’s gaze on her, she had been shooing pigeons off her potted hydrangeas. When months later, he showed no signs of dropping it, she acquiesced, and hesitantly asked Rina di to arrange a formal meeting. His intense grey corneas were her last memory as her own eyes blurred and sank into silence.”

As the voice trailed off, Noyonika removed her sunglasses, wiped tears that she hadn’t noticed emerge, and thanked her reading assistant for repeating her mother’s biography.

7 Times Sin Is 55: Gluttony

22 Sep

This one is called The Story of OJ and the Boy in a Restaurant.

It could be any cuisine, though they prefer Italian or seafood.

Come join them in the merriment, especially if you’re dieting.

Consideration being their joint middle name, they’ll ensure the food never reaches you, thereby guaranteeing your skinny happiness ever after.

7 Times Sin Is 55: Pride

14 Sep

Naaz, she called her.

Supreme Pride.

A child born to a blind mother after much adversity.

She is Allah’s blessing, her aunts would say, one so fair and comely.

And Naazo’s mother glowed in gratitude, and went peacefully to her grave, without an inkling that the light of her life had a deep cleft lip.

7 Times Sin is 55: Sloth

10 Sep

He squarely blamed the heat for his inertia.

Summer wasn’t a time to work.

He’d doze under the tree, occasionally letting slip a little snore, while the sun raged down on a scurrying world.

You couldn’t really blame the neighbors, therefore, when they noticed his stiff body only three days later, the snores silenced forever.

7 Times Sin Is 55: Lust

8 Sep

She looked at him with ill-concealed desire.

Taut and young, he was the color of raw ebony, waiting longingly to be caressed by her expert hands.

In a quick stride, she was by him, touching, teasing, living out her unfulfilled fantasies.

Finally, after all those years of denial, Saira had her very own grand piano.

7 Times Sin Is 55: Greed

4 Sep

He sidled toward her when no one was looking. Back turned to him, she was unwrapping the bright orange sweet received for knowing her numbers. A quick glance later, his teeth sank into his chubby arm and the ensuing howl ensured she was carried away, the sweet lying unopened and brightly orange on the floor.

7 Times Sin Is 55: Wrath

3 Sep

“Did she hurt you?” Mohan’s mother asked, her worried eyes scanning her son’s face.

He thought back to the early days of his marriage, when his wife’s wild rages had her smashing crockery, ripping the sheets, sending watches, forks and vases his way.

“No, Mother,” he staidly replied, nodding at the memory. “She always missed.”

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