#Scurf115: Listening to songs of the yore
To Kumar Sanu, Aashiqui and those kinda days
#Scurf114: A Travel Diary
From seven years ago
#Scurf113: What if Celine had picked up with the Viennese bum
Ruminations of the first part of Richard Linklater's Before series
#Scurf112: When a Language Comes Calling
the alchemy of a language left behind and how some of us come to be writers
#Scurf111: This Isn't a Poem
raising the profile on an otherwise mundane rainy summer noon
#scurf110 letter to a stranger: to the angel i once knew
wrote this almost two years ago. submitted to a handful of magazines. never heard back from some, got rejected from others.
#Scurf109: Breast and Eggs and the deeper conversation about friendships
On feeling seen by Meiko Kawakami's 'Breast and Eggs' (written in May 2021)
#scurf 108: an ode to the good old, environment-friendly air cooler
and the cool times, sweet climes and mirthful chimes it has led to
#scurf 107: Towards a second draft of an imperfect life
On Sheila Heti’s 'Pure Colour'
#scurf106 winter is gone
dreams, sighs and some misremembered selves
#scurf105 on superficially gorgeous songs
on the emptiness of Gehraaiyaaaaaaan and the Kuhad brigade of nonballads, the beauty of cold/mess and emraan hashmi love poems
#scurf104 old*** dispatches from Kovai
old scribbles from November, as I smoothed over and matured into a December in 2016, alone (well...) in Coimbatore
#scurf 103: notes from leopold, 2016
an incomplete dirge i wrote in 2016 on The Leopold Cafe
#scruf102: an anatomy of bras (from a different time)
i wrote this anatomy of bras told in two parts in 2016, or maybe sometime even before.
#scurf101: a vast nothingness
this was supposed to be about a lot of things, but it turned out to be about nothing
#scurf100: this time last week
delhi winter rains and reading and writing and trying to do a lot more on a rainy Winter Delhi morning
#scurf99: what do you write when you have nothing to write about
or so you think and you are just really, really lazy
#scruf 98: on flying again
i flew, i thought, i scribbled
#scurf96: that one song, those hairy arms and the last, tight hug
When xyz cannot sleep, does he sing himself to sleep? I wonder... Something happened in the first week of August and it stirred a pot of emotions, making me...
#scurf97: Dilip Kumar, my father and memories
Through my school days I was the uncool kid who knew more about 1950s Hindi movies and songs, about Madhubala and Dilip Kumar than anyone in my age cared to....
