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TO MY DAUGHER, BE WATER

TO MY DAUGHER, BE WATER

Be water. Unstoppable. A melt from capped peaks, Gaining speed. Taking with you, a bit of everything. Making a mark without making a mark. And as you approach The pebbles sing. Be water. Deep, mysterious. Familiar. A sorceress. Quenching. Teaching. Soothing. Music-making. Amorphous. The dew…

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THESE KITES I FLY

THESE KITES I FLY

I got four teenagers up before 7am. By 7.33 am I had gotten them unplugged from their devices that they auto-gravitated to (first big challenge after shaking them and making them sit up in delirious shock), hustled them to connect with their toothbrushes, got them…

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Food Memoir: Train Journey Part 1

Food Memoir: Train Journey Part 1

We are Keralites. My father, who came to Mumbai first, came here because he was transferred from the British company he worked to the government of India enterprise it turned itself into. However it was my mother, who cajoled him to taking up the offer…

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Lo Que Hice or, What Did You Say?!?

Lo Que Hice or, What Did You Say?!?

In a country of over 1.2 billion people, when a book sells 5,000 copies (0.007% of the population) and we call it a bestselling book, we ought to wonder if we are a population (and this is a global phenomenon) that is gradually becoming illiterate….

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SIMPLY SEPTEMBER: MUSINGS ABOUT A SISTER

SIMPLY SEPTEMBER: MUSINGS ABOUT A SISTER

For all of us, our year began with August. Two birthdays, two people to make cards for and payasaam made twice. But for me, the year really opened in September. It was my sister Chinnu’s birthday. When I think of my sister Chinnu, Renuka, I…

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THE POST-ONAM POST

THE POST-ONAM POST

What does Onam mean to a second generation migrant Malayali who has never celebrated Onam in Kerala? Let it stand on record: my favourite festival is Vishu, the Christmas of my life. Why? Because of the money coming our way, a bounty we awaited breathlessly,…

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FAMILY FOLK, THE FAMILY LORE

FAMILY FOLK, THE FAMILY LORE

I come from a family of storytellers. No one told us how to structure a story—that a story should have a beginning, the middle of the story was the discovery or that a twist in the tale was the best way to end a short…

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FOOD FOR THOUGHT

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

When I think of my mom I remember her soft white belly. It is so strange that when I have to summon a memory of my mother this is what comes up. Not her face, not her words, not some laughter moment. Her belly. She…

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