Vade Mecum

When they first come into your bed,Your fear is suspended,By the way they look at you.Like the flaws you seeAre invisible to them. They want to touch you;Feed off you;Hold you and sway youTo the rhythm of their bodies.You feel seen.You make love. Time changes that –That look that drifts into routineIs a result of repetition.Here, practice makes boredom;Perfection is boring. So you once again…

The Cockroaches Have Spoken How an insult from the Supreme Court birthed India’s strangest youth movement India wakes up every few months to a new outrage. A statement. A slogan. A clip ripped out of context. A politician saying the quiet part aloud. Social media erupts, hashtags trend for forty-eight hours, television panels scream at each other, and the nation moves on. But this time,…

For the last few days, I have been asking the tarot about a little brindle Boxer puppy named Malaika. Not because I believe cards can predict life with scientific certainty, but because sometimes symbolism becomes a language for emotions too large to hold plainly. Sometimes the cards do not tell the future so much as reveal the shape of the heart standing before it. And perhaps that is why the…

I am back…The conundrum lasts…There is no answer.Broken bones into casts. Broken hearts scatter into dust.The wind has no mercy.It does what it must –And I keep hearing it… The worst is the limited joy,It shines delightful and trueThen it succumbs, it breaks,Fool me, nothing’s new. Broken joy scatters as it will.What can I wilfully save?The wind is blowing cold,Time never forgave. What should…

Sense and Sensibility is often interpreted as a battle between reason and emotion, with Elinor positioned as the moral victor. Generations of readers have been taught to admire restraint, composure, and emotional discipline while quietly mocking Marianne’s intensity. Even in the celebrated film adaptation starring Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet, audiences frequently emerge calling Marianne…

There are people whose souls awaken at airports. People who feel restless unless they are planning a trip, booking tickets, standing in immigration queues with headphones on and a passport in hand, convinced that somewhere else — another city, another country, another landscape — life will briefly become more meaningful than the one they currently inhabit. I have never been one of them. And…

I watched a disturbing video yesterday involving an animal activist who had allegedly just learned that a rescued dog she cared about had died after being brutally assaulted. The injuries described were horrific — a broken spine, shattered legs, a helpless animal beaten so severely that it did not survive. Standing near what appeared to be a police station, she confronted the man accused of the…

There is a peculiar pattern I have begun to notice in my life. It doesn’t arrive loudly or announce itself, but it repeats—quietly, predictably, almost ritualistically. Two people meet through me, they like each other, and they begin to spend time together—often without telling me, which, to be fair, is completely fine. Then something else happens. They get close, sometimes too quickly. They…

There is a peculiar tendency—especially among more “Westernised” critics—to flatten Indian mainstream cinema into a moral checklist. If a film doesn’t align perfectly with contemporary ideological expectations, it is dismissed, and in that dismissal, nuance is often the first casualty. My recent conversation with a dear friend made this painfully clear. The subject: Karan Johar. Now, let me begin…

Walking into The Devil Wears Prada 2, I’ll admit—I had expectations. I shouldn’t have. Sequels, especially to something as sharp and iconic as the original, rarely rise to the occasion. This one doesn’t even try hard enough. The film brings back Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly, Anne Hathaway as Andrea Sachs, and Emily Blunt as Emily Charlton—but somewhere along the way, it forgets what made…

When a Film Becomes Memory, Music, and Something Personal There are films you watch. And then there are films that take you somewhere you didn’t expect to go. Michael did that to me tonight. I walked into a near-empty auditorium for a midnight preview—barely ten of us scattered across seats—and yet, from the very first beat of “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’”, I wasn’t in that theatre…

The other day, in the middle of yet another argument, my mother said something that stayed with me long after the noise had settled. “You were so loving once upon a time. You’ve changed.” There it was. A sentence loaded with nostalgia, accusation, and control—wrapped up as concern. And something in me snapped. Because what she calls “loving” was, in truth, obedience. It was a version of me…

There are films you watch, and then there are films that meet you exactly where you are. I walked into Project Hail Mary carrying grief — missing Zack and Xena, already undone before the lights dimmed. And somehow, this film didn’t distract me from that emotional state; it held it, reframed it, and quietly gave it meaning. Directed with clarity and emotional restraint by Phil Lord and…

I am preparing to move again. Not just homes — but histories. The new place at Yari Road sits with a strange tension in my mind. On the surface, it promises something better: more people with pets, more visible dog lovers, perhaps a more forgiving outdoor space. And yet, even before arriving, I can feel the resistance. There are already rules. Pets cannot use the main lift. They must use the…

I wonder what Zuri must feel,As she looks at your bed;Pauses briefly –And then walks on ahead. Do dogs sense absence,Know loss, feel grief?For sure, when I come home,She softens in relief. So does your scent linger,After a fortnight of loss?It must…or am I justDisplacing my remorse? But – she is quieter.And her love is clear:It doesn’t understand space –Dead, alive, there, here. My eyes well…

Today was the day I had been dreading. The day I would take Xena to the sea—not as the living, breathing presence who filled my home, but as ashes held in an urn. It felt like I would be losing her all over again. For days, I had been sitting beside her—talking, crying, writing—trying to make sense of a silence that came too soon, violently, especially after Zach, whose absence I am still…

Are you in those ashes?Were you burning in the pyre?Can water take your essence?Did your love submit to the fire? As your body burnt I watched;I could see the cancer still fight;But wasn’t it you who stoodAnd loved and played each night? Who knew that night in May,When I opened the door of that crate,You’d make my family completeAnd staunchly become my fate? Your brother I loved;I called him…