A picnic of wounds

Sometimes we become the people we've always hated or complained of and develop a strange sympathy for the time they were with us. We always have a predefined notion of paradise and in the hurry of finding it, we ourselves become one, for the devil.In the process, we gift ourself a wound, called regret. Which … Continue reading A picnic of wounds

All’s well that ends well.

It was already ten minutes past two and I was still supposed to have lunch. Tearing half of the chapatti, I stuffed it with sabzi, then finally my mouth. Sitting on the outdoor staircase with one hand adjusting my feet in shoes such that it didn't need the laces to be untied and the other … Continue reading All’s well that ends well.