I write this post the way I chat with my mother. Without a filter. Guileless. Innocent but also stupid. Adulterated but in a readable way. Over the last couple of years (read: since I started publishing my essays) quite unexpectedly my writing style veered from the stream of consciousness to a highly fabricated, positioned, situated format. I would say that it is an outcome of wanting to write for publications which require you to have a voice, a tone, a familiarity (or the opposite of that). There is some room for irreverence too there, but perhaps not too much of it. And anyway I am Indian, so I wouldn’t know the first (or last) thing about irreverence.

But that is not what this essay is about. This newsletter is about being able to type out one after the other thoughts, the way they come to my head without the fear of judgment, scrutiny or trolling. These are thoughts that take the shape of unedited, slightly warped, skewed air bubbles that once used to make up the insides of my conversations with friends.