Delhi Noir brought to the surface all the stereotypes I’ve imagined in relation to Delhi–vip culture, hopeless journalism, druggie flyovers, rapes and name-dropping. The success of these 14 short stories is in taking the ordinary and making it engaging. My favourite was Manjula Padmanabhan’s Cull, a sci-fi dystopian drama from the future.Rating: 3/5
When an unknown evil threatens Delhi, young Anantya Tantrist faces spirits of the seven planes to stop the God of Chaos and save her city. I her gumption. Author Shweta Taneja leaves you knees knocking as tantrik shakthi fills the plot. @shwetawrites ‘s narrative style leaves a young adult aftertaste but India couldn’t have asked for a better book to declare its Tanrik detective mystery genre, open! Rating: 3/5
Sri Lanka was my promise. Long before we got together for real, I had promised to take him there–it was to be our first getaway. Time took a hike for weeks, months, years only to return as our first wedding anniversary. SL will forever be that familiar yet special place.
We were there in October 2014–the sea was raining kisses on the landscape. First impression–a cleaner Kerala. Being South Indian in colour my “Sinhalese ancestery” was a foregone conclusion. I had it easy, easier than him–Everyone seemed to know me but looked at him suspiciously! However, it did help that the mention of fish, string hoppers and appam makes me light up.
Travel for me is about spending a couple of laidback days, walking around without a jam packed schedule, immersing myself in new experiences– and figuring things out. What’s even better is that we have that in common.
I Recommend
Do It Yourself
Eat at Sight
Good to Know
In the unplannable future, another trip to the Sri Lankan east coast is on the cards. Till then, this is my Sri Lanka for you. Hope you find yours.
A long time ago, a man named Tee lived in New York City. He was like every other man in the whole world except that a forest grew on his face. Living in temperate America, the trees in his forest were all conifers. They were thin, tall coniferous trees that grew down his face towards the Adam’s apple forming an incredible upside down valley.
Unlike tropical trees that spread their gregarious, friendly arms wide, conifers grow single-mindedly tall as if to meet the sun. From a distance, all the trees in Tee’s forest gave the impression of a velvety beard. But when you took a closer look, you would see that all the trees with their prickly leaves believed strongly in choice and grew in all directions you could imagine- North South East West and more!
The velvet forest wasn’t clean either. Since Tee ate at least three times a day, the forest was littered with breadcrumb rocks, spinach graffitti, rice twigs and chip shrubs. And since he drank coffee at least twice a day, it rained black drops of strong coffee on the unsuspecting terrain. Such were the days and nights in Tee’s forest.
Every other month or so, a razor-sharp plague would come to haunt. A plague so sudden and deadly that the next morning Tee would wake up to a cleared forest, only stumps reminding him of the marvel that grew on his face the night before. Tee always took consolation in the fact that the forest would grow back. It was the law of nature. With every passing day the stubs would grow a teeny-weeny bit and before you knew it, the forest would be a menacing presence again.
Always a stickler for decorum, Nature had other plans, this time around.
So the next time the plague shaved the forest clean, it did not grow back. Tee waited—confidently for the first week, optimistically for the next and hopefully for a third. When the forest showed no signs of growing back, he began to worry. As he wondered what could have gone wrong he looked around him to take in the plight of the forests on other faces. Wait a minute!
Those were not forests. Other faces had gardens—trimmed and groomed gardens where not a single tree grew out of line. There was no coffee rain or other garbage on the garden floor. Some faces grew grass into manicured lawns. Others grew raised beds of uniform plants. The swankier ones had fences with identical sycamore twins on either side. The spiritual ones groomed their garden into ethereal cascades.
The air of grace around the gardens had taught him the folly of his forest. When he woke up the next day, he was in for a surprise! The stubs had grown a teeny-weeny bit. Tee jumped with joy and promised to groom himself every week. The next Monday, true to his promise, Tee stood before his bathroom mirror, talking dearly to his erstwhile forest and trimming them down beautifully.
Suddenly she smiled baring her five pink teeth,
Brilliant like stars against her bright blue face.
Her first since the uprooting,
Without warning in the winter sun.
Her tender limbs had fit my palm when
I plucked her off the streets;
a dull little thing, pale with dust
With her eyes on the ground.
Back home she was quiet
Barely breathing, lest I notice.
I kept her in sight,
Propped up on fresh air.
Exploring, she grew friendly and–
soon a climber growing taller,
But not a smile broke
A riot of colours on that face.
Her smile washed over me,
Like a warm bath on a cold day
Singing from every surface
Today is the day she smiled!
I know she may not smile tomorrow
But live on we must–
And sometimes when the winter sun smiles,
All we know is to smile back.
A sudden breeze brushes my cheek
Without permission.
I look out the window searching for the culprit.
Only mellow streaks of sun lean against a building.
Without purpose.
The chill of the day creeps up my legs.
The floor seems to be in the know.
The window is active in its offensive.
At me, waylaid by my inaction.
But I am a daughter of the sun
Fierce in my loving, stinging in my hate
The heat I know is scorching.
I have nothing cold in me.
As I go out to chase the sun
Go ahead, cover me
In the warmth of your arms
Where I belong.
She’s like a crowded Indian city-road up!
A million alleys crawling to the skies
and decks of leaves like those houses,
where you window-watch neighbour’s TV shows
while caressing the baby in their arms.
There are flowers too one here, one
there – temporary pools of sanity.
Here,
the barbets don’t sing and the owls wake at night,
the eagles eat meat and the parrots love colour
the crows work hard and the pigeons need an asylum.
On my raintree of uncountable houses,
they live wing to wing like brothers –
shaming the road they live on.
If I were a talker
I know what I’ll do
I’ll talk my way through dinner
To end wars and poverty too.
The morning after – a beggar
Totters up to my car
But I am flying high like a kite
Because I solved poverty last night.
That feeling is back
The one I purged
By loving and letting him in.
Sharing, caring and daring
Not in the Primetime sense.
No needles shared, no hospital care and
definitely no sky diving to a new life.
But in my sterile Bell Jar world
He was that infectious spring
A breathtaking change to grim.
This flux made me forget-
Scorching summers follow sprightly springs.
And in me rose again
that feeling of dread,
Of weight, of disquiet
like a dust storm from hell.
Like a cannibal butterfly
Born in your chest,
In little mouthfuls, eat it will
Till tickling wings your skin feels
I have everything I want in life
Still no respite the butterfly gives
In birthdays and movies
And road trips and shopping sprees
My stomach becomes a butterfly park.
I wish it would come out
That feeling-deep and endless
Through my mouth and hands
Bleeding in brilliant colours
What my words fail to express.