My bare skin feels it now,stripped of duty‑bound living—the transformation of othersfrom patriarchyto misogynybites. Ashamed of my blindness,I press shut eyesagainst piercing truth:a life squanderedin arid deserts. Yet even deserts hold horizons,and the wind carves paths unseen.From the grit of wasted yearsI rise—to seek water,to seek voice,to seek becoming. RXC #421
Meera sat at the dining table in her parents’ home. The clatter of steel plates and the aroma of curry filled the air. Her mother fussed over a second helping, her father wiped imaginary sweat on his forehead and adjusted the fan. She knew he would ask her mother to get the hypertension medicine. Her … Continue reading Threads of Control
“Would you like to look at these books before I turn them over to a junk dealer?” Uncle was kind enough to ask when I visited him last. The so-called junk, a term that didn't sit well with me, belonged to my grandfather. I’d scanned through those books a couple of years ago, each holding … Continue reading Alternatives
“May I ask why are you defending a criminal?” His expression was intimidating, “Can you deny the truth that Riya took the law in her hands?” “Truth is a perspective”, Maya retorted, “What matters is intent, and Riya’s act of violence protected a minor from being destroyed. Your patriarchal system that defends the crime of … Continue reading The battle is on
“I can handle dissent, not insanity,” the chauvinist speaks in a tone of assumed authority, which is not really his. “What you term as insanity is an eruption of long-suppressed flames or instincts… at least you know what was brewing within.” “Whatever is brewing is not acceptable to me or society…” “Whatever is unacceptable arouses … Continue reading Why is it unacceptable?
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