ON WET GRASS That footprint on the wet grass need not be death’s; perhaps a folksong had gone by. The butterfly quivering on your palm has something to tell you. How long had the mangoes and jasmines awaited your hands…
FIRST DRAFT It’s just old fashioned, they say, to use pen and paper for first drafts but I still need the early shiver of ink in a white February wind — the blue slope and curve of letter bursting into…
In January 2000, at the start of the new millennium, my mother grew a yellow hibiscus. When she first showed it to me, luminous, almost phosphorescent, on that dark, winter evening, I saw it, rather predictably, as a symbol both…
I would never wish to be a shadow of myself, A speck of a ghost flickering across The lower chin of the sun. Call that beauty spot- Barely visible to the naked eye, Indistinguishable from other dots Dissolving in the…
On the threshold of the house we never built, I waited for you. In your ever-growing journeys I was the attendant you never noticed. My prayer had left its dwelling place and it followed wherever you flew, our child in…
Like delicate tracery you mapped the delusions of my heart, planning the evening and the rain, it was revenge, and I did not know, not recognising your art. We speak of rebirth, the cycle of life and death. But words…
As if an earthquake Always happens elsewhere; As if the pond here Will forever be still And as if the lotuses with their mouths open will forever gape at the skies. What if I wake up To see the skies…
The Nehru Centre, London organised its debate of the month on 28 July 2004 on Women and Censorship in collaboration with Samvukta, Journal of Women Studies published from India. The participants included Ritu Menon, founder-member of Women World and…
Shylaja woke up from a deep daytime slumber. The summer heat, filtered somewhat by the thick foliage of the huge mango tree spreading its branches all over one side of the house, filled the room. She felt that the…
Any reference to the girl Pramila who be longed to the general ref ibious group Hindu and the community Thandan had to begin with caste and end with caste. Pramila’s psychological and emotional problem was her casteism which had always been…
Chairs on either side of a painted two by two inch square rose wood table. A tray containing tomato chilli sauce, vinegar, salt and pepper and a few small porcelain dishes. The smell of U.S. pizzas. The chillness of Coke,…
When his arms stretched towards her naked underbelly, she pushed them roughly away. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she hissed. ‘What if I touch you?’ ‘You don’t have the right to.’ ‘Am I not your husband?’ ‘Are you?’ ‘Why? Do you have…
