To be categorised is near-death. It would be nice to say that one is a literary vagabond, but it just does not convey fully the sense of rootlessness and ruthlessness one strives for constantly.
The fragrance of musk and sweat. The feel of blood. People, hollow lives that can be filled. Words and phrases that take me off at a tangent. My childhood, my grandma, my mother. A marriage that did not work out. A divorce that took too much time. Solitude. Blanche Dubois, Madame Bovary, Evita are the characters I often imagine being. I know they are nasty little women, but then one can have such aspirations.
Favorite Books
Every writer, besides the ones I have listed, has had something to convey that has left me with the taste of bitter chocolate, and that I like.
Favorite Authors
Shakespeare
Virginia Woolf
Anais Nin
Henry Miller
Tennessee Williams
Edward Said
Harold Pinter
Norman Mailer
Chekhov
Ahmed Faraz
Faiz Ahmed Faiz
Saadat Hassan Manto
Ismat Chugtai
