Posts by Ivy


March 04, 2015:   As the first rays of the sun shone down the window-glass, I hastily sat up in my chair, wondering why I had fallen asleep at the typewriter. The table was strewn with bits and pieces of crumpled paper with words that refused to make any sense to me. After about a minute of haze, a part of it slowly came back. I had been thinking furiously

Do I Belong Here?

Sitting silently in the car on an especially daunting Monday morning in the unconquerable traffic, I suddenly noticed the aroma of coffee drifting towards me. It was both – surprising as well as weird. What road here is supposed to smell like coffee?   Curious, I began searching for the source and soon discovered that nested in a dirty corner of the street was a small stall that sold the

I Met Her in a Book of Poems

I discovered an old photograph, lodged in the congealed folds of a forgotten book of poetry in a warm bookstore; sepia’d from decades of being unlooked at, hidden, and scalded by neglect. The blues were now green, and the reds bled through my fingers…   A young girl stood, all of three inches tall in the picture, with her face towards me, hidden however in the burst of light of

The Birth of Silence

This is about a time when Silence did not exist. Humans did not know that they could stop talking, and chaos was the norm. If a person stayed silent for over five seconds on a certain day, he would be taken to the doctor for examination for some disease of the tongue or throat. People talked in their sleep. They talked while writing. They talked while running.   There were

I Knew, Did You?

I knew I would love you before I knew you: you, with your tired brown eyes and your nondescript mouth; you, with all your meek kindness and invisibility; you, with your unawareness and complacency.   I knew I was going to court your unimportance before you even set eyes upon me, before you knew who I would be. I knew I would sweep all of your humble, simple love in

Body Positive

“Your body is a temple,” a cousin once told me, after he had spit out the paan he had been chewing, on a nearby wall – the wall of a temple compound. I was six when I first learned this lesson. People worship Gods, and forget the temples every time.   I was ten when I was first called ‘fat’, thirteen when I was first called ‘anorexic’, fifteen when I

Sunsets and Fingerprints

<script async src=”//“></script> <!– taw-responsive –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”      data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″      data-ad-slot=”1428227755“      data-ad-format=”auto”></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> Some days, when the Sun touches the horizon with its final pink rays, I still sit back and think of all the flowers that I never got to give you: white carnations on your birthday; red roses on a first anniversary; dandelion puffballs

Colors, Words and Stories

Scarlet, orange, yellow, sepia, I try to define how I feel with colors. Fiery, slightly smothered, alien, then nostalgic; The brush feels ginger, warm, welcoming under my fingertips- In a way that your skin has ceased to feel, lately. The canvas is an indecipherable, but vibrant mess. Scarlet on the left, yellow on the right, orange to bridge the gap, sepia tinted, Oh, how the colors drip, mingle and fade

Nine Words

<script async src=”//“></script> <!– taw-responsive –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”      data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″      data-ad-slot=”1428227755“      data-ad-format=”auto”></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> Read this as a set of nine words abandoned in the blue of winter twilights, at the bottom of the flight of stairs that leads up to the mourning Eiffel tower, at the silence of the ocean that helplessly watches hostages in a

Your Best Memory

Remember me in the creases of your grey cotton shirt as you fold it back and return it to the top right corner of your cupboard, where it feels at home again. Remember me as you pass the street-side food-stalls, smiling to yourself about all the flavors we never tasted because I was always so paranoid about contracting some incurable disease. Remember me in the one and a half teaspoonful