where the writers are

introspection | introspection

ashish-negi's picture
Apr.11.2010
My lost crayons [A page from my diary] Today I visited my childhood residence. It was same room I left before 20 years back, first glance of room was realizing me length of 20 years. Suddenly seven uneven parallel lines of different colors on the wall, attracted my focus, and I got lost in my...
farzana-versey's picture
Apr.10.2010
It was a furry creature. In the haze and daze I was in, I ran towards it. This was funny because it was motionless, appearing poised to climb. This wasn’t the season for frogs. It wasn’t the season for anything to be anywhere near me. It wasn’t the season for me to chase motionless creatures. White...
tristy-vick's picture
Mar.30.2010
The instruments on the C-17 jet are pointing north, even though we’re headed south.   Apparently, once the plane passes 60 degrees south latitude, it can no longer decipher whether it’s coming or going.  Sitting in the cockpit, looking out into a vast sea of white, fluffy clouds, we very well...
farzana-versey's picture
Mar.23.2010
Her lips moved soundlessly as her fingers made patterns in the air. She was seated at the adjoining table, quite a striking woman. She had been staring at me for a while. Not one to shirk curiosity – and not particularly concerned about whether she was looking at possibly smudged lip-gloss or a...
farzana-versey's picture
Feb.22.2010
I have been disgusted with myself. For a few days now, I cringe at the thought of me. Me and that cupboard. The cupboard I had kept shut and locked and placed the key where I could see it only if I looked for it. I forgot about it. Till it was time to remember. There is always time to remember....
farzana-versey's picture
Jan.11.2010
There is packing where I fold clothes, place the delicate between the hardy, tick off all that has to be taken because I am scared I will not get it. It does not matter that the destination has enough and more. It is not mine. I want my little soap bar, my loofah, my fragrance, my comb…and I reach...
farzana-versey's picture
Dec.26.2009
Does the sun look bald? I would not know what a hairy sun might look like, or a sun with company, or a sun with a home among the clouds where it could find a few moments of peace. I cropped away most of the sky, the trees in the foreground, everything that lent atmosphere. I took away everything...
pavel-somov's picture
Dec.23.2009
Knut Hamsun wrote: "My soul broods. Mechanically I walk over to a tree, pull my cap low over my eyes and lean with my back against the tree, hands clasped behind my neck. I gaze and think, the flames from my fire dazzle my eyes, but I feel nothing. For some time I stand in this meaningless...
farzana-versey's picture
Dec.16.2009
The idea of a lone voice addressing an audience or of the conscience/subconscious hammering at the mind’s door intrigues me no end. Should I be labelling it introspection or a soliloquy? This isn’t literary upward mobility. Talking to myself really amounts to squeezing flowers to get a few drops...
farzana-versey's picture
Dec.08.2009
This is the door that leads to my room from the living area. If doors had voices I wonder what mine would say. That wooden carving on it is from Nepal; you cannot see the peacock in the centre. It had been lying with me for months and one day when the carpenter had come to fix up things, I asked...