I am always struck by love. There is always something creative, something potent about this affect.......

March comes with the ghosts of wintercollapsing on my bed, orphaned and fragrant as petals torn,......

In the corridor on the groundfloor, the dog smelling the orange to sniff out its intentions......

In the garden, we saw a cat flex its body to take a shit. It watched......

Is this love? Is mossy green the right shade for Earth? Why doesn’t love last? Why......

“The sex is so good.” I used to gush like a mynah bird. Heard a bulbul......

Spring, 1972. Aathiyappan felt like ants were crawling all over his body. This feeling had persisted......

Don’t commit the folly of using your eyes to pick the best. Ripe, luscious, juicy. Tsk.......

A Life Misspent Suryakant Tripathi ‘Nirala’ Because if you walk into a room and notice what......