pritha.

A winter cold from sixty years ago, bites the bones when you stand near the pond behind my house. Insects leave red hot stings behind. They seek warmth, flesh and breath. It’s always dark in this part of the neighborhood, nothing survives here. Pui-shaak, that wrecks havoc in other ponds refuses to grow, this is the dryest part of the ghaat. Something very lonely lurks in these waters. Her grey…

in your 20s, you will see everyone but yourself. you will grow out of clothes, you will fill out spaces you never thought you would. you will try to eat your way in and out of your body and theirs, you will spend hours looking at what teenage left on your face. you will cover your mirrors, you will prepare for death. you will start counting, endlessly counting till your fingers give up. you will…

Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received. whiplash and a dash of salt. heartbeats of my bones in the tips of your fingers, and you name them. all 206 of them. head reeling, chest wide open. choking on air. i chew this landscape, i am full of teeth. you dig your fingers into my belly to fish me out. you hold me against your chest. your heartbeat against my new body. 

a list of things i have left behind my childhood home, blood stains on an old man’s knee, four fists of cold stale rice in a four year old mouth, a square spoon, wooden scales, blank, algebra, drunk hungry and abandoned in the dark, a pebble in my shoe

in the market, picking dirt from waxy skin. shoes on gnarled feet tap-tapping, wheels, stale sweat melts in foamy hands. red nails, black nails, taut muscles taught to get shit done. done beautifully, say with me- two hits and a squeeze gets the best rhythm, usually. cut in half, bubbling over, a drop of honey, a cube of ice, a little salt and a spoonful of sugar. in the heat, in winter, be…

Do you need time? a fruit stone, a tear, skin, wednesday evening, fluorescent light, empty stomach, teeth teeth teeth teeth, tit, hair, nail, knife, gaping wound, a shoe, unbought papaya, styrofoam bus, wheels wheels wheels wheels, wordless, turning, your way, closer home, amputee, tongue, talk, time, dinner for one, sunken eyes, 00:00, hands, tear, ticks, itch, dark, time on a china plate, i…

i knew dadu would pass shortly after his brother. and he did. kishen and gopinath died of dyptheria when they were 4 and 6. nobody has these diseases anymore. it has been a long life, a powerful life. with you, a generation ends in ash. the ganga was cold today. baba left his good shirt on the ghat. cold and light, a wisp of smoke, barely human. dust to dust, earth and water.

What major historical events do you remember? in case of a school shooting, leave everything behind. be calm, evacuate. i have not heard from my father in five days. be calm, he is alive. maintain a line, your teachers will shield you. one family hid behind curtains in the Taj hotel for four days, the jetty had passed by my father’s ship. everybody in the neighbouring ship was dead. my mother…

my friend has been friends with the plague for a very long time. the film of blood in her retina is what a tinted world looks like. my friend is friends with a bully, her apolitical war supporting nationalist boyfriend, and their charade of the filthy rich, the exploitative, the ignorant. but it’s not all bad, i think. she hates it when people use the word ‘retard’. my friend hates bullies. she…

What does your ideal home look like? I, who have never known rest thinks home to be a pot of nothing. In terms of objects, my home looks like a one storey house with a balcony at the end of a wild garden so that when I sit on the floor, I can hear the birds and the insects and the leaf. In a corner of my home is a coil of fear, about to strike, but it never does. I want a roof with a little…

they look at each other and they turn around. they walk, they never look back. not once, not twice. she buys an ice cream on her way, it tastes like spit. on his skin, white noise from the radio spills over. here is a snot green pond, a large wheezing dog and a stone table. a V shaped cloud. together at the joint, then drifting further away, two lines that will never meet again. coconut tastes…

i am running from the fault lines on my forehead. i do not have to run, i could also walk, strut, limp, crawl with my right hand in my pocket. the last time i saw you, you had lost your front tooth and you were teaching yourself how to write again. jars, paint brush, paul cezanne, water gurgling in your throat, always Prussian blue. otto van bismarck carried eastwards, his head was found in…

If you could bring back one dinosaur, which one would it be? my great grandmother

on a wednesday, you will grow out of some friendships. that friday, you will write about it. fruitstones are the teeth of soil you will chew your nails taste like ether from little purple bottles and bottles of syrup soak your hair burnt in a youthful pyre eating eating thoughts on a plate balanced on a hand tied to a ceiling is the one you built for yourself and the dog that follows you around…