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To the rotis that puff I have no idea what technique I need to use to get you to puff. I have tried all and I have no consensus. But I know that you do not perform under pressure, do you puffed roti? Any time I need to prove that I know how to make…
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Who am IAm I the bird in the sky?But birds live in cages too.Am I the tree in the forestA delicate balance of give and takeBut trees don’t go anywhere.Am I a cloud, ephemeralHere one minute, gone the nextOnly to appear once conditions are right again?
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My title is a bad joke because lately I have been having more bad days than good days. The news cycle is relentless and every time I feel I can take a breath today; some tweet or story will destroy whatever peace (or piece) I have gathered.
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These past few weeks – months? – guilt, rage and helplessness have become my friends. I didn’t like what it was doing to my mental health – sleeplessness, lethargy, more rage, inability to focus – so I thought of going through my notes to find some sort of message or solace. It’s something I like…
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This one is dedicated to Harshita, Deepti, Poonam, Ellora, Leha and Purba. Thank you so much for your continued comments. Hope you like the conclusion.
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The story was told by dawn. The details had been fuzzy; Arthur had banished all memories and thoughts and fears to the deepest crevices of his brain, never to see the light of day again. But Janah had been relentless in his questions and had unearthed details even Arthur didn’t know he had.
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The continued delicacy with which Arthur Uriel Banes, formerly Arthur Chubs, formerly Mr. Chubs, was handled by the guards – plural, several more had joined the first one – left him reeling in shock and suspicion. Was he going to be executed? He barked a laugh at the thought. It would serve him right.
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tales of Suchita 