The term ‘research’ being in itself so momentous, a research journal supposedly should be filled with scholarly ramblings or field observations. My journal, however, also contains a section on memories. While memories are necessarily selective and private, we are not unknown to their pleasures when shared… So here’s a glimpse of a memory from my…
People say times have changed. I still see toads lying flat on the roads in the monsoons. Their joyous leaps put to an end maybe by some breakneck conveyance, before they could reach their sanctuaries safely. Rains still come down to these sanctuaries like ever: demented! Thousands of invisible light-footed spiders gambol on the buoyant…
One night I left the jar; the one with a miasma from mold growth, besides the wash basin for the next dawn to arrive when I would have definitely washed it. The dawn never arrived and I didn’t wash it. Someone did after four and half months. Maybe my mother on one of her visits…
Dust from ages gather; thicken and glues to the breath. The breath doesn’t reach existence; it disappears somewhere in between life and living and yet I breathe, yet I exist. The eyes seek to gaze within, to see where the breath disappears. Fingers itch to strip off the layers but they halt halfway, remembering…
Casually Classical 