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Sri City : In the beginning, Death did not despise life. Hatred requires attention and Death had never truly looked or cared enough. Lives came to him like falling leaves, innumerable and indistinct, their edges already curling towards silence. He did not rush them, nor did he linger. He simply arrived when the thread grew thin and severed it with hands older than time itself. He had witnessed the first breath ever drawn and the last star yet to dim, and in all that vastness,

Sri City : A few months ago, I was watching “Four Seasons,” a contemporary comedy-drama series on  Netflix, loosely inspired by Vivaldi’s ‘The Four Seasons.’ The show does not retell Vivaldi,  it does not even meaningfully quote him. Instead, the music operates as an ambient emotional  grammar, coding spring as flirtation, winter as emotional withdrawal, autumn as midlife  reckoning, and so on. What interested me was not whether the show was “faithful” to Vivaldi,  but how co

https://assets-news.housing.com/news/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/24014319/Traditional-Indian-textile-ideas-for-home-decor-f.jpg Sri City : I recently visited the National Crafts Museum & Hastkala Academy in New Delhi with my younger brother for a project he was working on. As part of the project, I had to speak with some of the artisans present there about their work and livelihood. One of the artisans present was a woman from Jammu, who was selling woolen stoles with Kashmiri

Sri City: Life 5 – The Refugee I woke inside a man His stomach clawed at itself with hunger His lips cracked dry as old stone His feet were torn from walking too far on ground that never ended Around him lay the wreckage of what once had been a village Charred walls leaning like broken ribs Smoke still clinging to the air though the fire had died long ago Bodies half buried under dust Some small some still clutching rags of clothing that had once been loved His arms carried n

Source : The Indian Express She stands looming over me, and I feel the tic tac graze my scalp. The grasp is firm, the callused hand balances my head from teetering back. She adorns a saree, it is tamarind tinged. Two black beads; and a maroon dot stare at me, with intent. She appraises me, having secured the jet-blackness of my untamed hair, which she nurses religiously with home ground shikakai . My eyes sting at the seams, and I feel my cheeks wrinkled and puffy. I shuffle

5 November, 2025 You have not been doing well recently, and I can't find it in me to reach out. I believe even if I were to show up one sunny morning, with baskets of fruits and boxes of sandesh (a Bengali sweet) , with a splitting grin and hair all oiled up, you would turn me away. It is not to say that I despise you now, or if ever. I don’t think feelings are that linear. But I do admire you. I even hope to be you someday. Probably not in the same ways you’d like. You’ve do

Sri City: I died in silence No grand finale no last words no mourning faces leaning over my bed One moment I was asleep and the next I was somewhere else It was not heaven not hell not the endless black of nothing It was a hollow place A corridor that had no walls and yet I felt confined Like being buried alive in air That was where I met him He was tall and bent slightly forward as if always laughing at a joke only he understood His eyes were pale as glass and his mouth stre

Image: https://pngtree.com/freepng/transforming-the-maze-of-thoughts-into-a-clear-ideaa-vector-illustration-vector_12743357.html Sri City: Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote, “There are no facts, only interpretations ,” a statement that feels strikingly relevant today as we navigate an era awash with information, yet where truth seems increasingly elusive. Stories and opinions barrage us from phones, laptops, and conversations, amplified by social media platforms like  X, Instagr

Prologue – 0  I died in silence No grand finale no last words no mourning faces leaning over my bed One moment I was asleep and the next I was somewhere else It was not heaven not hell not the endless black of nothing It was a hollow place A corridor that had no walls and yet I felt confined Like being buried alive in air That was where I met him He was tall and bent slightly forward as if always laughing at a joke only he understood His eyes were pale as glass and his mouth

Sri City: There is a particular unease that comes with living in today’s India, a democracy that proudly calls itself the “world’s largest,” yet increasingly defines itself by identifying and excluding its supposed enemies within. I recently read Anand Teltumbde’s essay in The Wire , “India, a Country of Anti-Nationals,”  and was struck by the clarity with which it exposes the new architecture of this exclusion. In a nation that once built upon pluralism and argumentation, t

Before the ink touched the map,  there was only us —  shared wells,  shared festivals,  the same monsoon beating on our roofs.  Then...

We chase the stars that grace the skies, But turn from the truth that lay before our eyes. A fleeting flame feels sweeter than, the ones...

https://pin.it/3jEn9RJ6b Case I. The Preliminary Surgical Loss When the Union Jack came down in 1947, India was declared free, yet the...

god is real & she's hungover & curled over the toilet in  my bathroom. its june & god knows my coffee order but  hasn't said my name in...

I sit by the sea, watching waves come by Approaching the sand, then drifting away Their sense of confidence, turned into fear Perhaps...

the air conditioning is turned off, it’s 6:30 a.m, and i’m awake. the onslaught of sunlight, my curtains like a sieve, the dust...

I woke to the taste of my flesh. Not the metallic sting of blood on my bitten lip, nor the dull ache of distressed fingertips, but...

The humid air hung heavy in the slum, a suffocating blanket woven with the stench of garbage and the despair of its inhabitants. Maria...