Starting off as empty branches We are eager to smell sweet flowers. So exciting, so treasured, so unique They continually draw us apart from each other.
Archive for the category Fiction
Fiction stories and poems by the Gaysi to be read by all.
‘Ay Seenu’ – is how he addressed me, in his yellow painted rickshaw with colorful curves and flowers across the sides, the red seat which bore him across the years, and coir-filled seats that occasionally had to be revamped with new covers (flashy in their own sense), and finally the rickshaw’s foldable roof in a dull, olive green. Doraisamy’s rickshaw could bear up to 6 children in the age group of 4 to 10, - two on the seat facing him, two on the seat behind his back and two tiny tots on the side-seat, which was like a swing, sometimes shooting up the adrenalin in us.
Wikipedia defines ‘endangered species’ as a ‘population of organisms which are at risk of becoming extinct because they are either few in numbers or threatened by changing environmental and predation parameters’.
For past few days or rather weeks, I was kind of in the trouble with myself..... and the name of my blog where i generally write justifies the meaning-”Me against Myself”.
I rummaged frantically through my backpack for the house keys and instead found the key to open the door to my previous apartment, a band aid, a box of matches and lighter, sanitary pads...basically everything but the house keys.
I let the phone ring five times before snatching it up. “Helloooo”, I drawled casually, pretending that I had not been sitting with the mobile in my hands for the last two hours. “Hey...it’z me! I juzt zaw your mezzage. I had to pick up the kidz from zchool”, said my best friend Philomena in a rush. “Not a problem. Guess what? I have an idea for my next column” I said, still playing it cool.
As an over-the-hill, overweight, looking for love and not finding it lesbian, the next best thing to do is to discover romance, adventure, drama and lust from the lives of lesbians who have it all, real or fictional.
You steal me... from me... And all that's left is a mere shell The eyes, without their sparkle The smile... a bit drawn
3: 45 P.M. - sitting in an upmarket office in one end of south Delhi, almost the outskirts. Meeting fixed for 4 P.M. 15 minutes to kill is easy; look around, observe. When do people really work when all they do is talk to one another? Too much laughing for a serious workplace. Hey, look at that girl, nice legs. And another, her high heels make too much noise. And that one there, can’t see her face but her body language says she wants to rush out of the office. Bored.
How do you know What is really happening When you’re unconscious? How do you trust, Really trust, those around you?
Ferry boats, Long car drives, listening to the radio, watching the sunset Give me a natural high - so does lolling aimlessly in bed Au contraire, u prefer long silences, ur ipod and the subway instead And my crazy discourse on life always makes u want to bang ur head
I had another epiphany, This time it was at 11pm. This time about break ups: Do they really need to exist? Assuming the relationship Is not completely toxic. You see, my first love cut it off. Abruptly.
you and your emotions are no more light, hug me tight, in this scary night...
I had an epiphany at 4am While I was thinking about that special soul Wondering what they would tell me to do Imagining their response - To my dilemma
Are you willing girl to be my poeme tonight? To flow from my limbs onto paper?
Strawberries half eaten some juiced over me re-creates your aftertaste… In my bed In my head In my mouth
Freshly laundered white cotton sheets. They weren’t high thread count. They weren’t Egyptian cotton. They were just clean and cool. My naked skin delighted in how soft they felt. It was around 10 pm and the room was dark. The fan above gently whirred circulating cold air. It was humid and muggy outside – A summer night.
I ask myself, When will I be able to be proud And introduce you as my better half? Is a tag of what you mean to me needed to define you?
They frequented drawing classes, homework books, newspapers, hotel napkins, the foggy bathroom mirror, sacks of grains at the grocery shop, dirt tracks, shoe imprints, photographs of dangerous ghats in Bolivia that flooded his email inbox, strange buildings, mangoes, blood bank advertisements and so on. His arms were stiff; wrists, though, forever worming graciously.
Yet, you invade my dreams without my permission And I watch helplessly as these technicolour images