This piece is all those HP quizzes I’ve not competed in, all those HP t-shirts I refused to wear, all those HP discussions I’ve refused to be a part of, and all those HP stories I’ve left unwritten because they were mine and too personal to share. This piece is accepting that Harry Potter is everyone else’s as much as mine.
To My Grandfather Letter I On your one hundredth birthday, I’ll be twenty-five. I’ll be a quarter of your age and nowhere near the person you were at my age. You are ninety-five now and still going strong. You wake up early and make sure that not a minute of the life you sustain is … Continue reading A letter long due
It was in a small parlour in the right lobby of the first floor of the rickety mansion beside the lake. You know what “it” is? No? Well, then let me tell you the story of the 2’x2’ window that rested on the floor in a small parlour in the right lobby of the first … Continue reading Changing Hands
The hot stones beneath my bare feet were what urged me to toddle around the Belur temple, as fast as I possibly could, without compromising on the prayers I was forced to lisp along the way. This was my earliest power walk and I sometimes still walk like there are hot stones propelling me to … Continue reading Aware and back
Interchangeable. That's what people are. She's your friend? You'll replace her with another "she" with more money and more attitude. It's okay. You'll get over the loss pretty quickly. A few meetings will come down to a few phone calls--from her end, mind you--and a quick 'phone was somewhere else' will give her the hint … Continue reading Swaps and Switches
She’d cupped her hands around her mouth and nose, trying not to make a sound. Her tears didn’t stop. They kept getting crumpled over her eyelashes, seeping in between her nails and finger tips, but they didn’t stop. She stood outside the cracked door of her classroom, listening to what her best friends were saying. … Continue reading Happily exhausted
Typing out his name while texting him seemed somehow sacredly intimate. Immeasurably more intimate than mentioning to him my list of crushes. It was a jerk of electricity to the soles of my feet and a tightening of my lungs. I don’t know if you read it like I typed it, deliberating before every letter, that … Continue reading Just a name, right? Right.
The first time I walked alone on Brigade, I wrapped a scarf around my face and threw on huge shades. I didn’t want anybody to recognize me. Even when I made purchases, I spoke in broken Hindi though I’m fluent in Kannada and the vendors were Kannadigas. It took a few more such outings before I could sign my real name on the feedback forms in restaurants. Nothing to be ashamed about, no?
Professor E is sitting at his desk and talking about some complex and baffling movement in history. I am in awe and completely intimidated; I don’t understand a thing and I am sure that no one does either, though everyone looks like they do. I look down to escape the embarrassment of being ignorant. … Continue reading Feet diaries
It was the summer before third grade, and I had decided that my hair was sentient, with me acting as her mouthpiece. She was long and dark and did not want to be cut off. Every time our mother brushed her and tugged at the knots, she made me cry. She hated to be washed … Continue reading Bossy hair phase