• Art by Aya Bitik


    This is all you.This is me missing you through the seasons. I wonder how you remember me.I wonder what you felt when I kissed your neck. — Talk to me, artist. Utter a word. I will listen and watch your mouth move, with you looking deep within me to see whether it’s worth it after all. Talk to me, artist. I am here only to witness the wonder of you. And write on how you churn me within. Let me cling on to how you pronounce every word with the finality of a cliff, only to start a new word and again, like leaping off and into the clouds. Talk…

  • Amanda Charchain

    An Old Intrigue

    I like the fact that she cared. The way her face lit up at the slightest hint. I was impatient. She was fierce. Our love was a hot molten mess. And we licked it right off. Ate each other out. Bit off each other and burnt through the nights. And healed through gentle peppery morning kisses. Peppermint. Enough has been written about what she made me feel, enough to make me fall in love again. And perhaps remember what made us fall out. It still wrings me inside, twists and throws me against the walls of my own words. Emotional masturbation, as Nin Andrews puts it. Bright eyes, and brown.…

  • Esha Oberoi

    Esha Oberoi

    What would you wear, sunshine? What would you wear when you step off your bed and crinkle your eyes? What would you choose to tell the world today, a perceptive contraption of your own creation, the one you shine through? What cloaks your stitches, what warms your heat? What hangs off your glorious edges? What certain scarf on your high neck? What flowing silk for your invisible stride? What makes you – the layers or the light? Tell me of your free will, and how you provoke yourself. Tell me about the billowing smoke that releases you from it all, and how you fly. Are you swift with the kestrels…

  • On Frankaffe, Sushrut Munje attempts to explain the necessity of indulging in the promiscuous river, if only to get to the other side. Sex cleanses you.

    The Necessary Indulgence

    You attempt to swim through the raging river and stumble a bit. It threatens to take you away with it and you lose your footing a few times. You take a dip, feel it the way it has been described, attempt to tame and fail miserably. The river knows no land. You seek land. But you belong to the river. How dare you dream of something the river does not understand? It attempts to overwhelm and a weaker man may falter

  • 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.

    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.