I woke up this morning, with my Twitter, Facebook and assorted other social networks informing me that Justice Katju had emitted another brainfart.
This was my way of finding out what I am. Trust me, no one came to help me!
I really like you and miss you. Randomly. For no reason at all.
But this you will never hear.
I want to kiss your scars till they close,
fold under your impossibly warm skin that turns freezing cold
as soon as the first hit of Delhi winter creeps under my quilt.
For all the love in my heart for him, I couldn't help but lift my guise.
About two years and four months into a new city, I have had a home in every person I have met.
Thousand AKSHAYs just cut their wrists
Fearing what their parents would say,
A hundred JAIs inhaled gas from a burning stove
Humiliated by those ‘Oh-So-Dear’ relatives,
But, don’t you worry!
They were just a part of that “miniscule minority”.
I wrote this at a time when I could only turn to the internet while I was coming to terms with my sexuality.
Now she was 34, married and dying. She had gone through a large part of her life living under the facade that was beginning to give way.
Hey there! I’m calling out to you
Dark skinned and lean and a slight beard too.
Like many other Indians, I have been following your visit to the US with keen interest.
“Don’t cry now. Rage! Rage against the callous insensitivity of the system, my friend.”
When the ‘Baby’ song played in my school function for the first time three years back, like many others, we thought the beautiful voice belonged to a cute American female singer.
The Solidarity Song highlights not only the uniqueness of this country and the pride we feel, but also the challenges that lie ahead.
Almost everyday I hear and see people and friends around me use the terms 'gay', 'fag', 'faggot' in a criminal sense
Should I tell you that the poem was created because I am a girl and sometimes, I fall in love with girls and often, I write about them?
“I like you. I really do. But I am not gay,” she says.
WHAT? But you just slept with me last night.
Last Sunday was hell all over again, rushing my father to the hospital and he was there on a ventilator again.
When I was a child, one of my favourite activities was re-decorating my room and the little altar I had in celebration of Hindu festivals.
Male lecherousness is unpardonable. Female salaciousness isn’t. The vagaries of mankind.