Mindful
Mindful

I’m trying to be mindful. Imagine a body filled with wide, brown eyes, searching for secrets. Imagine a hand yearning to feel a drop of sunlight on its palm.

Now look at this – a large bowl of stars, casually sprinkled onto the sky that you’re looking at. So casually, they drop into your body. Sparks, melting into your bones. Are you mindful?

Listen to me. Drink in my words with your ears. Feel them sink into every small corner that has silence trapped inside. Feel that song mix with your blood. Listen to me. Are you mindful?

You’ve run out of railway stations. There’s no time left to pack your bags, so drop that train of thought inside your mind and fill yourself with right here, and right now. Are you mindful?

Sanaya

Sanaya is a lawyer in Bombay. She currently spends most of her time reading and drafting documents. If she’s not doing that, she’s playing music, writing, or planning what to eat, next.

Ouevre

Duet

Poetry by Sanaya

What I want is to have your fingers Play my tune We’ll play a duet You on black keys, me on White What I want is to hear Two melodies...
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How to Leave a Note

Poetry by Sanaya

What matters is how you leave a note A musical note, pressed down by your fingers, hammer to string to sound, will echo what’s in your head while you play...
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In Between

Poetry by Sanaya

I live in the space between sound I live where you can’t hear the sound of your heart beat I live in pause and rest I live between the staccato...
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Anthology

The Future of Indian Poetry

Prose by Pariksith Singh

Indian poetry in English is flat. There is no depth. This was my impression when I read some anthologies edited by Pritish Nandy few decades ago. This remains my impression...
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The Hardest Virtue

Prose by Hoshang Dastoor

The incomparable screen actor who would slip a cash envelope under the door of a needy friend and disappear quietly, the great thinker who said he had achieved what he...
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The Musical Structure of Four Quartets

Prose by Pariksith Singh

The Four Quartets is a masterpiece. It is Eliot at his maturest, though perhaps not necessarily best with each line. The great achievement of this poem, if one may call...
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