All Works

This is a reflective piece I wrote on April 26, 2024 as part of a creative writing course. This piece connects a lot of my works published on this blog. Over this course, I was able to write two poems and a story for my assignments among other minor works. The semester allowed for me to spend a lot of time on these works(which proved little sometimes as well) and so the writing and its style that came through were choices which were mostly intentional. My first piece this sem

The watchmaker’s job is only to make watches. The watches he has made, he does not care for. For his watches now tick by themselves every second. He only sits back and watches. For now the art is perfect; The artist deserves not the luxury of meddling with the art. “Train number muru, muru, ombattu KSRinda Mysurige hoguva Inferno express eega hattne platform alli nintide” The noises were deafening. Cain did not seem to mind though. This tunnel woul

In May 2003, an album titled Nymphomatriarch was released under the label Hymen records. This album was the result of a collaboration between two artists, Venetian Snares and Hecate. Every track in this album used samples only from recordings of both these artists having sex. This was a music album, publicly released, and belonging to a genre known as ‘breakcore’. How would something like this even be considered music? What is musical about it? The term ‘breakcore’ first emer

Dasan felt as if his legs would be torn away any second. His face bore the marks of two days of ‘interrogation’ under the Kerala police. A sight to see, the party workers watched as he was dragged into the jail cell. Not a second passed. He was in the same place. The Commissioner of Police sat on a barely standing steel chair. His white mundu was stained with the party’s colours. There were two people in the whole state with the power to call off the coup. Both sat in the sa

When a loved one leaves you, it’s not them but a part of you too that goes along with them. Kerala, a widow, or a fatherless little girl, tremors on days when the rage and cries get too loud. She takes off her glimmering smile and jewels, and don herself in the fiercest of looks. Kohl and spirits rimming her eyes, red and black painted across the face, eardrums pried open to the sounds of ancient instruments of Chenda, Ilathalam, Veekan Chenda, Ilathalam, Kuzhal. An ancie

It is a cold wind gushing past rays of warm sunshine, Bunch of men driving broken bikes down ragged paths. Trees stare down their hollow souls, Silent hills glare at the valley where No man's network lasts. Hornbills scatter Dandeli landscape. Death glanced at red waters split from source. Drenched, he yelled gastric cries since elbow skin now nowhere exist.