The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

"My muse? What a strange thing to ask." I said, looking deeply into the eyes of the person sitting across me. She looked a bit intimidated and I felt an unease nudging in myself to relax the mood.  "I mean, what a wonderful thing to ask." I said with a sigh. She reminded me why I stopped conversing with people in the first place; the impending idea of being nice to everyone was eating me alive. It didn't come as easy as before. When she asked to meet, I said yes because I was tired of how I saw the world and I desperately needed to watch it with someone with different ideas to save myself. I recognised her as soon as I stepped into the cafe. It was hard not to notice her with her bright yellow dress that had hundreds of small cars on it. I caught a glimpse of myself through the glass doors as I prepared to leave. So different. So very different. I took a deep breath, turned around and walked toward her table.  "Hey. Did I make you wait for long?" I ask

Art by Owen Gent The scorching heat of the afternoon was unbearable, clothes melting into the skin, bodies becoming a salty sea, and minds wandering around frenzied. Estha, Rahel and Sophie mol looks like they are having the times of their lives, running around in the sun, playing in the boat. The sound of their laughter pierces through the walls of the old house, holding it together. Holding the image I have of my home together, a house that creaks with my past, drunk odours, the sounds of fathers slapping mothers and of sons slapping fathers. Their laughter feels like a small version of me picking up all the scattered pieces of the image with bleeding hands telling me 'one day, this will be home.' ..... I slowly undress myself, removing each piece of clothing and savouring the restricted air touching me. I step inside. As the water slowly makes its way, touching every part of my body I remember Velutha. I rest my head against the wall and wish it was his shoulder, the one whe

Chapter 2: Hate. Hate is such a strong word. I could never bring myself to look someone in the face and say 'I hate you' and mean it. But I have met people who could and it frightens me. The mere possibility of someone being filled with dread and anger at the thought of someone else. I always ask why, why do you hate them but the answers always go over my head. It scares me even more because I know it might be possible for me, for me to hate a person. Here's a story.  My grandma and I have these sessions in the afternoon where we talk until one of us falls asleep. We tell stories, talk about the day, talk about the future and sometimes about the past. One such afternoon, she decided to tell me a story. I still believe to this day that it was the comforting sunlight that gave enough warmth as a mother's breast, or the coolness of the pillow that would rock me to sleep, or the strange assurance of a listener that would be present till the end of the story, was what gave h

  My heart beating fast,hands holding on tightly,sweating a lot,but with a huge smile on my face I said "Mom,be careful! Don't worry,I am holding the cycle." "Don't you dare leave me! Omg,I should have stayed at home. I am gonna die!!", she screamed. I let go of my hands sweating profoundly. I couldn't stop smiling at how beautiful the moment was. Someone striving to achieve their dreams is an amazing sight. It makes you believe in miracles. It makes you persistent that there is no bullshit as broken dreams- those are the dreams 'we' are scared to achieve. With my hands on my knees,hair a stupid mess,panting heavily ,I wished the whole world was there to witness the moment.   "How did I ride? Was it correct? I did it ,right?", my mom asked in a hurry. Although she cycled in a zig-zag mode which would most probably kill half the people on the road, I flashed her a thumbs up and smile. Before she could set out on another killing spree, I