Poems & Short Stories

I met my college friends recently and we finally sat in a café for much needed caffeine infusion because what we thought as a retail therapy turned into a retail fatigue. The café looked like a snug retreat with four of us flipping the pages of the old college diaries and reminding ourselves that how we have transformed over the years. Physically a lot but mentally we are still the crazy bunch who get excited with shopping expo and art exhibitions, meandering our way like those socialite aunties in Feb afternoons. Our conversation went on for hours and it finally rested on a question that strongly demanded me to write an entire page about it. “What is the first gift you gave yourself from your first pay- check, from your first job? Our coffee and cake arrived and so did the answers. Each bringing on their own flavor and reminiscing the memories attached to it. My eyes rested on my plain Jane gold ring. What is it about this ring that makes it extra special? Is it because...

Mae Mobley: “Colored folks are dirty. Black is not good.” Aibleen: Little girl, who is teaching you these things? Mae Mobley: Our teacher in school – Miss Taylor This is the conversation that one of the protagonists has with the little girl she takes care of. Aibee   thinks, “What person out there don’t remember their first grade teacher?” Totally agree! Like Aibleen, my jaw tightens and fists get clenched. The Help is a gripping tale of what it was like to be a colored maid during the civil rights movement of 1960s. It talks about color discrimination and the heinous aspects attached with it, through the lives of housemaids in racially conflicted area – Jackson in Mississipi. “ Don’t judge by the color, love all the people” , is what this book determines to tell through the three voices. These bold voices take turn in filling the pages all along. Aibleen - with a balanced mind, Minny – the sassier of the three and Skeeter – though a white, pledge to make life ea...

“I wanted to tell Mama that it did feel different to be back, that our living room had too much empty space, too much wasted marble floor that gleamed from Sisi’s polishing and housed nothing. Our celing was too high. Our furniture was lifeless: the glass tables did not shed twisted skin in the harmattan, the leather sofas’ greeting was a clammy coldness, and the Persian rugs were too lush to have any feeling. But I said, “You polished the etagere.” " The above text appears when Jaja and Kambili return from Nsukku, their Aunty Ifeoma’s house, and witness their place as dull and lacking warmth even though the house glistened like a palace. The warmth that Aunty Ifeoma’s house had carried during the days they spent despite having a nondescript house and where they prayed every day for Peace and Laughter. Laughter among all the things. Because Laughter was valued in their house everyday despite living with shortcomings something that Kambili hardly got to experience in own h...

Storytelling is one of the great form of expression of thoughts and ideas. From the ancient days, we all have been practicing sharing anecdotes with our friends and families. There is interesting exchange of anecdotes in informal or formal setting which always excites and charms the listener. It is said that humor added in our story shakes the indifferent from the stupor. So everyone adds their own uniqueness in every tale they share. The foremost element that captures attention in addition to the elements that we are going to read further is our own charm or uniqueness of story-telling. Same applies to Story-writing. A well-defined or written story should have necessary elements which will entice the reader to go further and shove it away. Every element is unique in creative writing. Each holds a significance that will highlight the stories and make it complete. To mention, story-writing, as a whole, has elements namely plot, character, setting, conflict, resolution and the...

On a silver shady night, when on a road So many thoughts flooded my mind The visage of the snowy ball that was on board Winked at me sitting far away in the heaven’s abode I stayed unmoved and untouched The memories swept over me,   Swirling wind brought the sudden rain Clambering all the way down from the clouds With a determined promise though To heal the hot soil and remove its pain I stayed unmoved and untouched Rains in November, I could not fathom Even when it brought lovely outcomes Playing with the paperboats, the merry hearted children Pushed and pulled each other in the downpour Ripples in the water shone in the white light Like the summer of good memories in the darkest night I stayed unmoved and untouched     Awashed with water, the path smelled freshness The trail of lights snaking their way in the inky darkness Everything felt calm in my senses Until you came with your traces Became heavy the air, ...

The recent trip to lingerie shop gave me a much needed insight towards life. Yes you heard it right. Lingerie shop! So here the saga goes, I have always had been in search of good bras which could give me a correct fit and comfort. And I found it really hard to get one. It was like discovering oneself or to an answer to much sought after question “Does god exists?” The argument is still on. So is the search for truth. The truth here being “Is there any correct fit for my cleavage? Can they ever feel home? I will tell you my encounter with the varied set of bras. Some act like they follow strict guidelines but the minute I get busy hanging out with my schedule, they let my cleavage leap out providing it a freedom. Putting their hashtag ‘breakfree’. Some don’t have strong support system and putting the straps at place becomes another routine work like keeping the tucked hair at place or like the parents of brattish children. They don’t listen to you yet you yell at them. And...

Maths has always been a hot topic in my household. South-Indian, you see. It is an indispensable part of our life right from the beginning. If Swaraj is the birth-right that Lokmanya Tilak was so fond of, Maths is the birth right of every South-Indian family. If you cannot score centum in Maths means there is some serious mistake in your genetics. Hence, the fact that you need to be a pro in Maths glared so bright that it blinded our vision. If you wanted to move ahead without faltering, you had no choice but to ace the subject.   There is a saying ‘we can hate it but cannot ignore it’. I can see you nodding at this and that is what exactly Maths is all about. The subject is everywhere and you cannot ignore. Right from our accounts, daily grocery shopping, maintaining bills and so many other sundry things, it highlights its glorious visage left, right and center. I can still hear my mother scream,” Does your one cup rice have 3 cups of water?”, when I was shutting the lid of...