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 world Read at USAWA...
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....
by Arti Jain | Jul 29, 2024 | Print and online
Don’t commit the folly of using your eyes to pick the best. Ripe, luscious, juicy. Tsk. Don’t have a clue, do you? Superficial fools! Listen, pay attention—close your eyes. Don’t peak. Hover over the fruit with other senses; smell, touch, gut, historical evidence....
by Arti Jain | May 8, 2024 | Fiction
Published in the Kindle Mag “You can’t play with those boys under the jamun tree!” warned his grandmother as Amit reached out to push the heavy black metal gate open. “Why?” He wanted to scream the why out, but knew better. “Because they’re dirty, filthy scum…those...
by Arti Jain | Feb 17, 2024 | Creative Non-Fiction
Deep winter. Dehradun. I’m five years old. Papaji, my grandfather, is collecting glowing embers of coal from my grandmother’s chullah (earthen stove) in the courtyard. He’s using a pair of old iron tongs, no bigger than his large farmer’s hands, to scoop out...
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