• On Frankaffe, Sushrut Munje shares how beginning a new relationship is akin to the journey of a sail boat. He also expresses gratitude towards his past.
    Love

    The Celebratory Hangover

    We trace the lines of our thoughts while pausing in the middle of the rush. There is no patient Sunday afternoon that waits for this exercise. It is often an extra hour on a Monday night that has been squeezed through, which allows us to truly document our existence. This is no broadcast of political correctness, but a form of personal expression. The way we move about in society - conversing and interacting. Similarly, we write and bring forth what our mind stirs. It makes us what we are, for the future to read.

  • On Frankaffe, Sushrut Munje shares how her presence pleasantly asks you to step out of perceived comfort zone, breathe in the fresh air and fall in love again.
    Love

    Rolling in the Bloody Blues

    A climb comes with an occasional gasp for air. A dance routine comes with a misstep. A song comes with a miss, a stare interrupted by a blink and you with dents to kiss. I trip for the freckles. I trip for the lock of hair which insists on falling over your bright eyes. I trip for the meticulousness of choosing wine over red, and peach over pink.

  • On Frankaffe, Sushrut Munje shares what it feels to be present in this given moment, drunk on her heady presence and her strength of a fine wine. Such delight.
    Love

    The Pink Peach

    Comfortable silence prevailed as we sipped coffee under the evening sky. Just the right amount of milk and sugar. Just the right bitter black. With the slight nip in the air and an occasional rustle, it was a certain November. She had been a song to hum along with. I looked out into the distance, as she sat beside me, breathing her in.

  • On Frankaffe, Sushrut Munje shares how favorite songs are in fact moments written down in an attempt to remember them once the time is past.
    Love

    Her Song

    What's my favorite song, she asked. I looked up from the elaborately made pizza, startled, and gazed into the brownness of her bright eyes. Just how brown they were. A rich roast. They had a song of their own. I hesitated, unsure of how to phrase the one that wakes you up out of the deepest slumber, plays on your lips like a teasing kiss, makes you crave for more. The song which swims with all abandon, walks in with a flourish, bounces on your walls and straight into you. It asks for no permission, and you hum the melody for evenings to come.

  • Sushrut Munje shares, on Frankaffe, a long poetry on the imagined traps, invisible walls, societal norms, societal definitions of being normal and being free.
    Love

    Madness Under the Starlight

    Under the starlight. Madness inside personified. Struggle inside. Music around asking me to open up. Transform. Pretty sights everywhere. Pretty sun. Pretty moon. Pretty stars. Pretty everything. Provoking the doubt. Provoking the boundaries which make me. Or rather, I think make me, me. The invisible wall which keeps me from leaping out.