#scurf95: A note on one year of Irrfan's passting
From the archives
#scurf94: sticky dog days this summer season
how do you feel being stuck in a traffic for more than two hours? your vehicle dragging itself barely at a speed of 15-20 kmph. the stasis of the world...
#scurf93: an ode to my elegiac hometown
The stench was everywhere. There were spaces of no hope, pockets of nothing, mounds of heap and dust and mud that greeted us all around. But what first got...
#scurf92: on not numbering
::bizarre newsletter alert:: i wish someone paid me to write a better, more fleshed out newsletter, so going to keep this weird (which is also sort of on-...
#scurf 91: march in 15 days (not a meme)
its going to be march in 15 days again, so this newsletter very obviously will touch upon a host of feelings and thing that i've missed in the last (almost)...
#scurf 90: on shaping this newsletter, its three year anniversary and my mangled reading habits
a little bit of reworking of this newsletter has been on the cards. as it turns three (!!!) i am going ahead with the rework and give it a more definite...
cats, trees and a lonesome us
at the risk of shocking some of you, here's how the abyss looks like, seen from the window of my room. we have currently been adopted by these feline rascals...
one month, thirty days, 720 hours, etc.
it has been two months and i have not punched out even a single blogpost. its nothing new, this radio silence, especially since its wintery-covid season now....
ola mi agos
Dear friend(s), I come to this writing this tiny letter out of sheer confusion and through a tiny bit of procrastination. Unlike a lot of successful tiny...
a sad n angry time
Dear friend, This letter comes in between a working week. Like most of the other things not just in our lives, but also in the world around us, this letter...
the creative benefits of waking up early
i wake up an hour early to build/make something for myself. a cup of chai, a stream of consciousness poem, a string of letters or just a tiny river song. on...
permafrost worries
A condensed version of this essay was published here in Sunila Galappatti's lockdown journal. Today was more or less the same as yesterday, which in turn was...
prabhat road rains
pune, c. July 16, 2016 Smell It has been raining in this city for the last fortnight and the incessant pouring has ceased, held itself back for the last four...
Memories of monsoons past: Madras edit (2014-15)
this morning as i sat in my room, put together a work email, a cool draft grazed my neck. it comforted me and transported me back to the July of 2014. my...
Films as literature
With the present job losses, migrant labour crises, multiple and sheer statistics of death all around us, I have been unable to continue with my personal...
Laurence Anyways and then some more....
A movie that I've been meaning to watch for years, Laurence, Anyways, I was able to see finally. My notes on the film are perhaps for another time, but...
on words
This is a slightly meaningless ramble from a week ago that sat comfortably in my drafts read by just me. Some words from my favourite writer Jhumpa Lahiri...
food, memories and Pune nostalgia
June 2018, from a conversation with a friend “A writer is forever trying to get his reader to taste. Taste my world, he says, smell it, ingest it. A novelist...
boys/girls lockerroom and the sickness of it
'read about the bois locker room?'i sent to 5 friends as i processed the details, and pasted a slip of paper on my laptop's camera hole.someone said 'oh so...
a letter to you, through this mist
the white noise you have left behind in the mist...those eyes are books, that body of work the marking of a lifetime lived wholely. every interview, a time...
