#deshi

Those moments were our secrets in crowded rooms. (They have no idea about me and you.) Last Saturday, I raised pieces of parata to her lips, with laddus she bought for me before getting on her five-hour flight across the country to visit me at the apartment I rent. We hadn’t seen each other in a year. We were in a rush to head out, so I fed her while she cooked the paratas and I watched the eggs. We chatted casually. I was going to see her off at the airport. She’s 26 now. I’m 25.

— photo dump | manali, january 2025 (posh 2081) ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖

Naïm Bonnot

Background Artist / Matte Painter @Fortiche on ARCANE

artstation linkedin

I think of you as if you’re a forgotten religion. But it’s made you more sacred in my eyes. I revere your piss-stained, graffitied walls. I worship the writhing masses of thick black wires that hang from electricity poles in every one of your street. I pray to the roaring hymns of buses and lorries that spew acrid black smoke. 

Dilijan smokes like you do. Sometimes, when I’m out, treading loose gravel, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. It smells like you. Like blackened lungs and grey ash spraying in the wind. I pretend that in front of my closed eyes are people with skin the colour of rich earth. I pretend for a moment, that if I opened them, right here, right now, I’d see you in all your triumphant glory. 

I’m not used to the cold. I’m used to your heat beating upon my back. I’m used to sweat dripping down the nape of my neck and down my spine. I don’t think I like this. I don’t like the way the cold air stabs through my throat like a sharp knife. Fog comes out of my mouth in puffs when I talk at night, when it’s cold. I remember cursing your name when that didn’t happen during the winters I spent with you. I remember praying for snow like I pray for your warmth now. The rain doesn’t smell right either. It doesn’t smell like earth. It doesn’t sound like a thousand trees heaving a relieved sigh. It’s wrong. It’s not home. It’s not you.

Stay well, my love. Don’t ever quieten. Don’t ever become pretty. Wait for me to come back to you. 

Until I can taste the rancid garbage in your air again,

The nostalgia of our childhood, Prince of Persia is returning to us after whopping 13 years. Ubisoft recently announced their upcoming project, but with a different title now which is Prince of Persia: The lost crown. The interesting fact about the upcoming game is that you won’t get to play with the iconic Prince Dastan. Ubisoft has gone and done it again. From Assassin’s Creed games with no assassins to a Prince of Persia game with no Prince and this gamble may well prove to be the doom of the epic franchise with Prince of Persia 2024; let’s hope not!