Posts by Zinnia Sengupta

Of Shakespeare and Fingers

His fingers looked like they could weave stardust out of empty space. They were the first thing she noticed about him from the other end of the quaint little bookshop, as they softly caressed the spines of old, yellowing books. Unwittingly, she imagined them tracing Latin on her own spine, and hastily covered up the sudden goosebumps on her arms with her muffler.   He was hunched over a dusty

In Sync

Kids and supermarkets are not a good combination. I make a quick mental note to shift grocery duties to my dear husband’s chores as I watch our offspring leap around the aisles like a hyperactive orangutan. Seven year-old Riya even has a couple of bananas in her hand, for some strange reason.   Damn, I’d better rein my child in before we’re banned from this store as well.   “Riya!

The Absurdities of Humanness

Even after all these tumultuous years on the planet, what never fails to amaze me is how we humans hopscotch our way through life, one tumble at a time, all the while believing our loved ones to be invincible. Indestructible.   We pick fights over the most mundane of things. Who left the towel on the bed. Who stole the last jar of Nutella. Whose turn it was to clean

Are You Having A Bad Day?

Hi, sweetheart. Are you having a bad day?   Do you feel like your swollen insides have suddenly become too darn heavy for just you to carry around and all you want to do is curl up and let your pillow soak up the darkness in your soul, drop by bitter drop?   Do you think that life is laughing at you with every damn stumble you make, every stupid

The Happy Birthday

Let’s all take a moment and talk about birthdays, shall we?   Have you ever paused while stuffing yourself with cake and thought about just how tremendously humbling birthdays are?   Even if each person has their own uniquely twisted ideas of their ideal birthday, there is one common ingredient that makes the ‘happy’ in the ‘Happy Birthday!’   A bunch of people who are not related to you by blood,

That Spark

How hard could it be to find a stupid bottle of sleeping pills?   Pretty darn hard, as I was discovering that night, rummaging through the messy store-cupboard.   I’d always thought that the saying ‘Couldn’t live in peace; could I at least die in peace?’ was too clichéd for words but heck if I wasn’t finding out the truth of it the hard way.   Ah, there it was—finally—wait,

A Letter To The Survivor

Hey you, Happy New Year! I bet you’re shaking your head and wondering what’s so happy about the clock striking twelve and this bright blue planet of ours completing yet another revolution around a giant ball of gas. You’re probably just thinking of how you’re going to spend a good few months turning 5s into 6s and failing miserably. Oh but have you stopped for a moment, taken your cynical

Smiling (Sometimes)

There, do you see her?   Smiling.   Eyes like molten amber   frozen in time and tragedy.   You’d never guess, would you?   That beneath the papery pretense   the over-bright teeth and even brighter laughs   is a fatigue so deep   so consuming   that it’s all she can do not to get pulled underneath.   Because she knows once she’s gone, she’s not coming back

The Loser

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></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> You’re lucky your body is attached to your inflated head, missy, her mum always says. Else you’d have lost it years ago!   Zara sighs; a particularly long one, dripping with self-pity.   The Loser, people call her, close friends included. The term

That Elusive Vixen

I wonder what it is about sadness   that makes us fall so hopelessly in love with it   or at least the idea of it.   Is it the endless inspiration that oozes out of its veins and into our all-too-eager ones   drugging our synapses with its cathartic scent   and sweet, sweet poison   until we are slaves; slaves pouring out the gloomy ink in our hearts

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