Dear Diary: Shit Poetry

I wrote a poem. I called it Connor. I woke up to a beautiful day. A day beautiful everywhere but inside my mind. Last night, I had seen the water shimmer white, though in nothing more poetic than Chlorofluoro light. The shimmer on the water was still beautiful to behold for my restless sleepless soul….

Dear Diary: Waking Up to a Viral Apocalypse

As i emerge (temporarily) from my Corona-induced breakup haze, i seemed to have missed most of the second season of the India Apocalypse. Season 2 seems to have a wave of international sympathy-mingled outrage at this tragedy of mismanagement. I had quarantined myself from all News until I wandered into chat rooms for the clinically…

Remember Me, (Or else…)

When the call came, I was thinking about death. Specifically by jumping. Leaping, is how I looked at it, from the top of the 13-storied Block D of Abad Ravines. I had surveyed many projects in the city  under the pretext of a purchase. This one was perfect because of the surprisingly lax security –…

Unhelpful Representation of Special-Needs People in Malayalam Literature

Despite its high literacy rate and human development index, Kerala struggles with popular regressive and misogynistic opinions bandied about on local tea-stalls and Whatsapp gossip circles. But when bastions of progressive thinking like cinema and literary circles normalize the same, it is perhaps time to pick a bone or two. For a taste of the…

Unhelpful Representation of Special-Needs People in Malayalam Literature

Despite its high literacy rate and human development index, Kerala struggles with popular regressive and misogynistic opinions bandied about on local tea-stalls, Whatsapp gossip circles. But when bastions of progressive thinking like cinema and literary circles normalize the same, it is perhaps time to pick a bone or two. For a taste of the severely…

Patient 31

Meanwhile, a pandemic was also spreading in the fictional Jamathi world. Women are wearing their hair loose, moral decay is rampant, and the end of days is imminent.

Killing Marie

A short piece into a writer’s soul as he grieves the death of love in the hunt for art and originality.

The Moon is an Oatmeal Raisin Cookie

Saahil first got seriously on social media because he had heard that Anjali was on it. Anjali was this pretty girl that he knew at work. The kind of girl that he almost never found the courage to talk to. But he wanted to talk to her.

Jai Musca Domestica

Fascinating new research could possibly shed light on one of the most widely debated topics of the Kingdom of Sedonia, the matter of the Housefly.  Triggered by outrage of a housefly falling into the flavored drink of the visiting American president at the Sedonian Royal Home, rumors have been widespread of a government-funded extermination of…

When I took an Existential Crap

Last evening, after I took a mistimed crap at work, I came out and suddenly felt existential. I know that is a bit excessive, given that I don’t have a clue about the concept, but I thought it was the thing to be, like being woke and all. Still I had a nagging sense that…