Wordside Woman

I think I was watching the trailer for the second season of this romantic anthology series called"Modern Love". As usual I was not paying attention to most of what was being said. My focus was on catching a glimpse of Kit Harrington. And then I heard one of the characters say something like, " We can only be as happy as we allow ourselves to be", and it got me thinking for a while. I, in fact even texted it to someone I know, who is yet to acknowledge that text. (Its been two days.....I know.... but I am used to being ignored like that.....sigh!.....)  The word "happiness brings" to my mind a series of interviews that were aired in Kappa TV, hosted by Dhanya Varma, called "Happiness Project". Though it was indeed all about happiness, I loved how she interviewed the people without ever letting a feeling of redundancy to creep in. Unlike several other interviewers I have come across, she never pried into their personal lives or dug up scandals from...

                                         SHERNI (2021) The title “Sherni” is applicable both to the predator in question as well as to the protagonist. Vidya Balan seamlessly plays the role of a rookie officer trying to combat corruption and inefficiency in the government system while simultaneously attempting to hold on against the slighting remarks and gender bias within her sphere of work. The lopsided power dynamics become apparent in several scenes, where the hands of the conscientious officers are tied and are further made to made to feel feckless. Unlike many other movies with female leads, the character played by Vidya Balan doesn’t dominate the narrative. The viewer is offered a fulfilling viewing experience without a wasted scene or dialogue. The movie begins with a seemingly insignificant scene indicating the lack of subject knowledge among the officials of the forest de...

    I didn’t know if I was his friend or just somebody he talked to over the phone when he did not have anything better to do with his time. Whatever the case might be, I had gotten a good and patient listener to my rantings and whining in him. Most adults will agree to the pricelessness of such an acquisition in life. Also, he never seemed to judge me, mostly on account of the fact that he simply didn’t care. His aloofness was comforting to me for some reason. In his words, he lived in a bubble of his own making through which he did see the world, but chose to observe only what he felt was worth his while. It’s been ten years since that message I sent him on a particularly depressing day, during the first year of my bachelors. Now, years later, I was beginning to read Truman Capote’s novella Breakfast at Tiffany’s when his descriptions jogged my memory, and that day when we met for the first time as acquaintances after spending eight years in the same school as ...

It was my first week in my third college. An institution that welcomed only girls( not that I am complaining) and which for some reason abhorred all types of stripes, checks, polka dots, etc in favour of plain fabrics. I was sitting in my college bus, staring at the empty driver's seat, waiting for the bus to finally move to escape the scorching heat when a bubbly girl with curly hair and spectacles came towards me and asked if I was there in FB. Eager not to come across as a dud, I said "of course I am", somewhat unconvincingly.On reaching home I googled to find out what these two alphabets stood for, and thus, I was introduced to the world of Face Book. I created an account and felt proud of myself and sent friend requests to my schoolmates who still crowded my friend circle. The initiation ceremony would have been incomplete without sending a message to someone. So I chose a friend of mine to be the receiver with the intention of surprising him. I opened the chat box a...

I was in the courtyard at about 12:45 at night over the phone talking with my friend after a particularly   satisfying day, the details of which are irrelevant to what I am going to write about. At that point of time, I was inadvertently making an attempt to identify with an image of a person I was trying to construct for myself, since a lack of routine and productive engagements with people had left me feeling confused about who I was. The conversation veered towards me trying to find out what kind of people I tend to attract for friends and what that says about me. The listener caught the drift of where I was going and promptly stopped me while pointing out the problem with my attempt. The motivations behind why we keep company is often dictated by our immediate needs, circumstances and exigencies, among other things, which mostly have nothing much to do with the person we are. Having said that, the real problem that was pointed out was with the very process of trying to def...

     She thumbed through the pages of the booklet, looking at the intricate designs of bead work and laces. I was sitting in a corner of the redolent room that was teeming with activity. Every ten or fifteen minutes she would quickly glance at me and pass a smile. We had barely talked that day. Suddenly I felt a chill from the air conditioner. A toddler on all fours was gently tugging at one of the packets in my hands. I got up from where I was sitting and went up to her, leaving the bags behind on the couch. She sensed my presence behind her and pointed towards two photographs without lifting her head from the pages. I wanted her to look beautiful that day. By the time we stepped out from there, three hours had flown by. The Indian winter was slowly making its presence felt.            A number of auto rickshaws stopped beside us as we walked, but we shook our heads in unison and they left muttering a few incomprehensible word...

  They were all in sepia,  Mountains, roads, causeways and bridges,  In a pile beneath the dusty carpet,  Left behind for me,  They lay calling out in muffled voice.  A motley crowd,  not all in black had assembled,  An unassuming casket and a sprig of lavender,  From the mailman to the mayor all had come,  A family had born where strangers were,  A sombre tone had settled there,  The train’s on time and the office is still at nine,  Phones ring and buzzers pressed,  The click of heels never cease,  But for now,  let’s pause,  Be silent and mourn.

  A puddle of uniformed identities,  Staring at black and white knowledge,  Eyes, some eager, some drowsy,  Trained to limit their vision to within the walls of the class,  Never straying beyond the panes of the window,  There is a chink at the corner,  And the world tries to sneak in unmindful of the sharp shards of glass,  It is shunned and tagged a “distraction”.  Here and there often of a brain cracks and leaks  Redolent imagination that indelibly stains wherever it drips,  It is promptly swept away using the dry papers from weighty tomes.  No one moves,  Bulbous eyes faithfully follow the trail of the white chalk,  The clock ticks and a bell rings.  The puddle of uniformed identities muzzle their senses and file away  Towards a repeat of today.