To Men who Make Homes out of Glass Bottles

Do not mistake endless arrays of your reflection for an army, this is not a fortress you have built for yourself, it is a battlefield, and your very own weapons are plunging daggers through your heart. The low hum of the varying remnants of alcohol is not the soundtrack of your summer, the nostalgic Hotel…

Pixels

There are memories etched in the pixels of nostalgia stained photographs that these Braille lusting fingertips have left for generations to come, a cotton candy universe slowly building itself up, spreading out of the corners, like an algae or a weed waiting to be noticed, to be talked about, to be remembered with a distant…

The Boy who Loved

Durjoy Datta’s “The Boy who Loved” markets itself as a Romance Novel, and has been claimed to be the fastest selling Romance Novel of 2017 (in India). The first of a two-part romance, “The Boy who Loved” traces the seemingly ordinary whereabouts of its 16 year old protagonist, Raghu Ganguly.  The novel is an epistolary…

Seashores

I could tell you his eyes run deeper than oceans, but deep waters like those turn green, with more algae and moss than room to breathe. So instead, let’s call them a seashore, which is to say, if you stare right into them under direct sunlight for long enough, you will eventually be teleported to…

An Ode to Twilight

The evening sky is tinted like sepia stained photographs as if to tuck in the happenings of the day into memories before they crumble beneath the weight of cloudless nights. There is a sweet scent of nostalgia in the winds of a hard day’s evening, the same that lingers in between the rustles of autumn…

Stairway to Faith

Faith is a fickle fiend. I tell myself after every lost war that my belief in God is a figment of everybody’s imagination forced onto mine like a dome over my endless skies. It is all my anticipation placed upon a loose thread, a broken bridge, a map filled with paper towns, and basically anything…

The Other Side of Beginnings

Beginnings, by definition, are the points of origin, which means you could pinpoint the origin of every moment in the maps of your memories with a little flag. The best part about cartography is how seemingly small it makes everything look like, every pinpoint is a city, every moment an abandoned town, and suddenly, you…

The Secret Ingredient

Children tell me that they can smell the cinnamon right off me when they greet me each morning, that they can tell the days my face powder is more flour less castor sugar, the days my hands are swollen from all that kneading. I have been baking for long enough to know the taste that…

Dragon Heartstrings

If it’s true what they say, and Prometheus really did steal fire to hand it over to mankind, he and I could be best friends in every life. You see, I play with fire for a living, watch it dance around my fingertips, as we mend and break objects of all sizes. This welder has…

Sandcastles

Imagine a Lego House, two stories tall, with arched doorways, more playrooms than bedrooms and a garden to fence it off. Now, remove all the Lego pieces. Remove the red bricked slanting roof, the second floor balcony, the extra room for the dog that never existed anyway, and all you’re left with is patchy imagination…

Terms and Conditions

I have already outlived my father, my grandfather, and all the generations that came before them, but I still barely scrape over the average life expectancy in this country. Isn’t it ironic how I can surpass decades worth life quality and still not be good enough? I am an over-achieving warrior in a land full…

KINTSUKUROI

Kept in a little blue box with little engravings of cherry blossoms, I hid memories of you in a part of my mind long forgotten. Nobody knows this but tonight I think you should, That I reopen my box of memories to heal scars that have left me numb. Some scars are shy, you know…