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Keep Faith…

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Rub it Right: New Myths for Old

The Centrality of Wander in Creative Practice

The Return of the abhisarika nayika

Wings of Desire


I was working on a story when the mood broke. Three of my friends had suddenly broken up with their partners. They began downloading on me over long phone calls, marathon e-mails, and face-to-face. True, I had invited this in some way; maybe it is my writer’s greed for stories. But the listening became painful; the air turned into shiny needles that hurt with every breath.

Amid the choking rain of needles I sought for words which would comfort them but only saw the trauma. To each one I repeated that time would transform if not heal, and it’s all for the better; and yet I felt hollow. Repeating the same phrases into the mirror of shock, into the well of sorrow, into the reflection of confusion. Gradually they retreated, one by one, to their new lives. And once again I was left in the green calmness of my house with a broken story waiting within the endless pages of my computer. Again I sought words and wrote this, to grasp the air.

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