by Arti Jain | Sep 26, 2024 | Print and online
When I was young, I saw whispers escape the fog of their memories and spread on the kitchen floor. They sat facing the fire burning the timber of tales of partition in such a way that it sealed the knots, grain of every pain felt, seen, heard—of sisters who jumped...
by Arti Jain | Sep 18, 2024 | Travelogue
Subah Banaras, shaam Banaras Rehta har dum jam Banaras Morning Banaras, evening Banaras Stuck forever in a jam (traffic) Banaras Khatt-khatt-khattak—khatt-khatt-khattak—the rhythm of the train, a lazy sun, trees, shrubs, grass—snuggled, smothered under winter fog,...
by Arti Jain | Jul 29, 2024 | Print and online
“The sex is so good.” I used to gush like a mynah bird. Heard a bulbul sing recently? Intently? Kyun nahin, nahin, kyun nahin, nahin. Sounds don’t translate; words do. Be mindful where you place your words, your love. Making love is not the same as love making....
by Arti Jain | Jul 29, 2024 | Print and online
this thin world all full of talk talks of cyclones that blew out stars stars too dim to listen to prayers we send send to them as kites tethered to lines of crystal crystal when crushed cuts through flesh flesh bleeds, fridges rust this thin...
by Arti Jain | Jul 29, 2024 | Print and online
We drive to the park for our weekend walk. You, me and our angry complaining silence superglued to us tight. Shut. I turn the seams of my thoughts inside out can’t find any traces of the us we’ve practiced all these years. So, I turn the radio on—for company. Noise....
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