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Kitchen Soup for the Homesick Soul

So here’s a little known detail: Somewhere in 2014, I was suddenly inspired to write a book. It would be a food memoir, I’d decided. Threading memory, tradition, nostalgia, food, and how it had all...

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Whisky-shisky

The longer, boozier story I mentioned was in the works? It’s live. It’s about an Indian whisky being distilled in India, but it’s also about what makes it Indian, what it’s like being a Master...

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Bangalore: a graphic novel

I don’t know the first thing about graphic novels, but I feel like getting myself down to the launch of the Bangalore graphic novel, where I got to watch and listen to some of the good folk who...

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Go Goa Gone: End of My Sunshine Dream

I moved to Goa restlessly in search of a new turf. I’d always dreamt of a life full of travel. But after eight years, Bangalore is the home I have chosen to return to. The rain has always reminded me...

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Day 11: I have my books and my poetry to protect me

Most days, I write because I have so much to say and I want to be heard. Contrary to popular belief, being articulate in writing doesn’t always mean a writer is articulate in speaking. I’m not very...

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Day 18: Afterglow

Today was a really good day. For no special or momentous reason. Just many little seemingly insignificant things strung together. And I just want to remember it while I’m steeping in the afterglow....

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Day 25: Gravity is working against me

I’ve been beating myself up about a couple of things of late. I’d like to stop. Not so much put and end to the completely unproductive self-flagellation itself, but also gently remind myself that there...

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Day 45: We’ve gotta hold on to what we’ve got

For about a week now, I’ve been pondering about why I continue to keep this blog — especially in the form it has taken this year. I’ve watched it morph from a frequent account of things that happened...

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Day 52: I hope you’re not lonely without me

The Thing that Drew Me to Social Media Also Led Me to Quit It Two months ago, I was deep in the throes of a supposedly philosophical discussion about the simultaneous usefulness and futility of...

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Day 59: Pretend like there’s no world outside

In 2016, I started a newsletter. It was a very impulsive, inspired decision. I’ll pat myself on my back for how I didn’t overthink it, just dived in and went with it. Because that was so...

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Day 81: Somebody holds the key

So, for a while now I’ve been sitting with a discomfort with the idea that a lot of channels of popular media and culture in India tend to use their wokeness as a convenient route to popularity or make...

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Day 150: Days when I couldn’t live my life without you

I began blogging in May, twelve whole years ago. And on this day seven years ago, I moved to WordPress. I’ve said it before: for all the inconsistencies in my life, the inability to stay with anything...

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Day 155: I wrote a letter to my love

Confession: It took me a whole month to write the birthday letter I had promised to write myself. Every day, since my birthday (when I decided I’d do this) I have thought about getting my ass down to...

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Day 257: One breath leads to another

Why I write every single day I started writing this year, to have a daily ritual that helps me connect with myself, and one that engages me entirely. It started as a habit I wanted to cultivate, but...

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Day 332: Shoot high, break low

So. I was published! In a Canadian anthology featuring stories and essays about menstruation from around the world. I was first notified in an email from one of the editors, Tanis, who wrote to me last...

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Day 348: I got this feeling inside my bones

Remember this letter I wrote to myself on my birthday? I had decided back then that I am going to write to letters of the kind every year — one on my birthday, and another on New Years Eve. I made an...

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I am the universe

Sometimes I am the sea. After a full moon night. Swelling and ebbing, in control and contained. Holding space within. Exuding gentle power and grace. Sometimes I am a river in a rush. Reckless and...

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On crying

It takes a good cry, or several, to get your hand to touch your face. To explore its contours and to see what lies beneath the thin skin that stretches over your eyes. Crying has shown me the shape of...

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Vulnerability and validation

As I find myself discovering how woefully limited and inadequate my understanding of words like authenticity and vulnerability have been, I’ve been having experiences of discovering newer, different...

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The written word

Well over a month since my birthday and I still haven’t written the letter to myself. Every time that I have decided to sit down and do it, I am overwhelmed by the thought of what parts of everything...

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