I sit here, listening to an orchestra.
They are playing the Banjos of ingenuity,
and far from where I am, is a symposium
of wise men, sitting on the struggle
of the common American –...
A virtual route of creative and cultural exchange
Places
Bombay / Mumbai , India
« I prefer to use the older name, ‘Bombay,' as it symbolizes the inclusive and cosmopolitan character of my city. » —Ranjit Hoskote
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The three boys jumped over the boarding school wall in the suede of night. They had scored 3 out of 20 marks and were horse-whipped 17 times. The teacher promised a similar punishment the next day too. The... media_text
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Bombay, India [I prefer to use the older name, ‘Bombay’, as it symbolizes the inclusive and cosmopolitan character of my city; the name ‘Mumbai’ was imposed in 1995 by a right-wing provincial (in every sense of the... media_text
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Searchlights within reveal the roost of my still small voice is on a glacis: nothing unusual, I’m getting on in years. Swizzle sticks are my way of keeping track in a bar. Nip between us glaces... media_text
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Snakes and ladders I met Mrs. Kumar twice in my life. The first when I was an administrative assistant and she, the wife of a man who had climbed the slippery corporate ladder... media_text
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My uncle had a strange habit of gathering people.
Not less than 25 he would take on an outing.
Like: Aunty Perpetual with her breast cut
who would lift her t-shirt every time to show us her story,
Avo who would stand...
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After the drill of social punctilios, when curtains are drawn, the blah media_text
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Students of Sanskrit will recognise, in Kalyana Malla, the author of the erotic manual, Ananga Ranga. Since Sanskrit authors are not often situated, at least not to general readers, in a specific time and place—they... media_text
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At the time of my birth, my small town Kalyan, did not have a library. It had no road rage, few beggars, one defunct traffic signal at Murbad Road, and fewer cars. Horizontal... media_text
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Your imperfections play up my perfectness. It is a superb Everyone I love faces the might offorce majeure. If... media_text
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Memory is...images of a prepubescent boy cycling home,
Parag milk packets in one of his arms,
feeding biscuits to a stray gaggle of brown dogs, wagging their shins. Large half-moon eyes, kind salivating... media_text
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