Being Sharon; finding Shyamni…
I am so sorry that your mother didn’t tell you that a wife could be the road untravelled. That that adventure you’re seeking across the seas, in unknown cities could be a woman. I am so sorry that your mother couldn’t make you see that a wife could be more than pure milk.... Continue Reading →
Your tribe isn’t always the brotherhood, fun times and safe spaces. Sometimes you are entwined to your tribe in a web of lies, buried secrets and dried blood. Sometimes the very people you are repelled by, the ones you pray you never become like, want nothing to do with, are the only ones... Continue Reading →
You know you’re healing when the thought of spending a cool Saturday afternoon alone at your local tapas cafe over a jug of chilled Sangria dreaming of crossing icy borders again fills you with such warmth that your stiff toes curl out in abrupt laughter. whereisshyamni@gmail.com Connect: Facebook, Twitter & Instagram
I cannot remember the number of times I would arrive at my mother’s house and leave from the gate. Extra pairs of shoes at the front door always gave away her visitors. I could not bear the love in my mother’s eyes when she would hold my hand and pull me close to sit... Continue Reading →
“Madam, now vhat does a lion have to do with books?” asked my taxi driver for the evening. “uuuhh…..” “Exactly. Nahhthing.” I watched the young novel-wala outside my window disappear into the evening Dili traffic. He couldn’t have been more than 14 years old. Maybe the cab driver is right. ... Continue Reading →
On the southern tip of India sits a temple with a blue door on it’s eastern wall always locked. Green murky waters of the 3 seas crashing ferociously outside; as if trying to touch the feet of Devi Kanyakumari. Years ago I sat outside that door at the end of an exhausting journey... Continue Reading →
He had a knack for breaking things. She rocked on the toilet floor with trembling hands Trying to tape the smashed pieces of her mix cassette together. She inserted it into her walkman and tried to press play. Didn’t work. She took a knife and tightened the screws And tried again. Her body sagged... Continue Reading →
Every time I get on a long-distance train My inner Simran steps in hope That this is the trip I’d meet the Raj of my dreams. I’ve ridden through mountains, lakes and deserts Jatin-Lalit on background score (through a USB!) My neck craning a little higher at every second bend. Seeking. Hoping. Waiting. ... Continue Reading →
Do your kids know of the Apartheid? Did someone speak to them about the Holocaust? Have they been told about what happened during the British Raj? Have you shared with them how you felt on the day of the 1987 coup in Viti? Do they know where West Papua is? Then what on... Continue Reading →
