Scribbles and stories.

  I woke up today thinking about a lot of things, reading a lot of things, and watching a lot of things. Palestine, the protest, the people, the detentions, the anger, the frustration, everything around. And that's when I read Darwish.  A reporter asked him, "Is there any hope for this nation?" and Darwish said, "Even if there is no hope, we are obliged to invent and create hope. Without hope, we are lost." Which naturally made me think: how did we get here?  It’s easier to lose hope during times like these, when you see fault in everything, and no one is bothered about anything. Capitalism is everywhere, and the true revolution? What does that even mean? I feel Marx smirking in his grave. Children are losing their childhood, women are being raped, queer and dalit people are being killed, men have lost their minds, the forests are being destroyed, and water is becoming the food for machines, and the list feels endless, and you can feel it in your body: the anger...

We are in our first week of October, and I’m still thinking about September. That month always has its ways with me. When the sky finds new shades to show off, the flowers play along with more-r shades. It’s a game worth losing, because you win either way. The rains that find your home and the nostalgia of a childhood far and gone. As it takes different forms now and then, you desperately pray for a no-flood season every night. September is as slumber as it can get; life doesn’t change much during that month. It is the same, and so you find ways to make it seem interesting. You notice, and you make stories, because what else can one do?  This September, however, surprised me with an unforeseen independence. Moving and building a home alone happened, and life changed in little ways.  Chennai is supposed to be less hot from September, but damn, the heat is unbearable! And the burden of the climate change that we are witnessing in the fancy name called El Niño, as if ...