September 22, 2023, marked a pivotal moment in the Chandrayaan-3 mission. While hopes of reviving communication with the moon's slumbering lander and rover were lit and quickly put out within the week, it's not the end of the cosmic journey. Former ISRO Chairman A S Kiran Kumar shared with The Economic Times the current state: the moon lander and rover remain in their celestial rest, yet to respond to our calls.

Despite this setback, let's take a moment to celebrate Chandrayaan-3's remarkable achievements. Picture this: a flawless lunar touchdown followed by the rover's tireless exploration, and a series of groundbreaking in-situ scientific experiments. The mission has been a testament to ISRO's expertise and dedication, even in its young age.

In a remarkably short lifespan since its establishment on August 15, 1969, the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO) has emerged as a powerhouse in space exploration, overcoming economic hurdles within the country to achieve remarkable milestones.

Compared to NASA, founded on July 29, 1958, ISRO began its journey more than a decade later. Yet, in this comparatively brief period, ISRO has etched its name in the annals of space exploration, displaying astounding resilience and innovation.

India's economic challenges have been no secret, yet against this backdrop, ISRO has soared to unparalleled heights. From launching India's first satellite, Aryabhata, in 1975 to scripting history with the Mars Orbiter Mission (Mangalyaan) in 2013, ISRO has continuously pushed the boundaries of space technology on a shoestring budget.

Chandrayaan-3 came knocking with a budget of ₹600 crores. Sounds hefty, right? Well, brace yourself because here's the zinger – some of India's blockbuster movies, like the epic Adipurush, flexed budgets soaring over ₹500 crores!

Yep, you heard it right. A mission to explore the lunar surface nudged in just above what some big-ticket Bollywood movies splurged on their grandiose spectacle. Adipurush, shot in mind-boggling 3D (if you're curious about how that's done, give me a shout!), flaunted a brand-new technology in India. It's a cinematic marvel backed by some stellar artists, not just on-screen but behind the scenes too.

While we're zooming to the Moon on a lunar rover, it's worth considering how far we've come in the graphics game. Remember those 'Jaani Dushman' and 'Naagin' days? Take a nostalgic peek at Adipurush, not just for the storyline (although that's a bonus!), but to witness the stratospheric leap in graphics, taking us lightyears ahead in the movie-making cosmos.

While the cosmic hotline awaits a response, like a Nag waiting to grow into a human, and the rover takes an extended siesta, the knowledge gleaned from the rover's in-situ chemical analyses, provides a precious glimpse into lunar secrets. This journey signifies not just a story of communication challenges but a remarkable odyssey in unraveling the mysteries of our celestial neighbor.

So, as we look forward, let's hold on to the spirit of discovery that Chandrayaan-3 has ignited. Its achievements pave the way for future cosmic quests, reminding us that despite temporary setbacks, the pursuit of knowledge among the stars never truly ends.

Moosur daal – a fusion of Bengal and Bihar

Disclaimer Welcome to intuitive cooking. These recipes are to unleash the chaos in you. No measurements, just vibes

I learnt to make daal at 24. I was instructed by a friend over a video call because I didn't want to Google it. They taught me how to make it in the style their mom made it – the Bihari style. Then my mother told me how we don't do all that in the Bengali style. So I learnt two very different processes of having daal. I'll list both down below.

What I find interesting is that both cultures developed side by side and yet we have so many differences. Industrialisation of the country has only made the gap bigger instead of bridging it. It saddens me so much. Especially when from all over the world we're getting reports of governments assassinating their own citizens, I think it's really important as a nation that we embrace the strength in our diversity. Our cultures, histories, languages, differences and similarities are what make us unique and interesting. This is why colonisers have chosen us over and over and over. Yet, Indians have always managed to assimilate our oppressors into our society, gently redirecting them from pillaging to seeing us as equal traders. We need to remember the sheer power Indians hold in the world. Our greatest exports – intellect, spices, rice, human labour – are what the world functions on. I truly believe the day we reconcile our inter-cultural differences, we will be unstoppable.

Anyway, getting back to daal. My go to is the Bengali version as you'll see it's easier and quicker. The Bihari version is for days when you need comfort in food but also therapy in the preparation. I'm usually lazy and believe in one pot fast cooks but some recipes are so close to my heart, I can't help but share. I know a lot of you also hate chopping and extra prep time but if you have the opportunity and energy, do try the Bihari version of the recipe. You won't regret putting the 15 mins of extra effort.

Ingredients – Bengali version

• Paanch foron
• Mustard oil
• Turmeric
• Salt
• Moosur daal
• Water
• Pressure cooker

Instructions

• Wash the daal
• In some heated oil in the pressure cooker, put the paanch foron in and let it sputter for a few seconds
• Drop in the daal
• Add salt and turmeric powder and let the water dry off. Stir occasionally
• Add water, at least double the amount of daal (this one is a little more flowy. On setting aside for a while, the chonky parts of the daal settles at the bottom, creating my favourite warm drink in the world – daaler jol which literally translates to pulses' water)
• Close the lid of the pressure cooker
• Wait for 3-4 whistles
• Let the pressure release on its own
• Serve over hot rice and with some onion, tomato, cucumber salad dressed with lemon juice and salt

Ingredients – Bihari version

• Tej patta
• Dried red chilli (my preference is Kashmiri, it adds a layer of smokiness to the daal that's just irreplaceable)
• Onion
• Garlic
• Tomato
• Green chilli
• Mustard oil
• Turmeric
• Chilli powder
• Salt
• Moosur daal
• Water
• Coriander
• Pressure cooker

Instructions

• Wash the daal
• Add salt and water to the daal and let it pressure cook
• Wait for 2-3 whistles
• Chop onions, garlic and green chilli
• In a pan, heat mustard oil
• Add tej patta and dried red chilli
• When they start to sputter, add garlic
• As the raw garlic smell disappears, add onions and a little more salt
• When the onion turns translucent, add chillies and tomatoes
• Cook till all the vegetables look wilted
• Add turmeric powder, and red chilli powder
• Fry till you can't smell the raw masala anymore
• Open the lid to your pressure cooker once the pressure is released
• Vigorously break down the daal pieces with a daal masher
• Add the scorching, sputtering chokh/tadka/temper to the daal and stir it in
• Garnish with some freshly chopped coriander
• Serve over hot rice and with some rice+sabudana papad

In every universe we don't see, Do you think we always end up away from each other?

Its hard not to write stolen lines when thinking about you. The me I could've been with you.

Departed lips still bound by vines so strong That they break the illusion of you within me. Vines so old, vines so few You're so old, I'm so new Forgetting you with all the courage I had in me Was the best I could do.

Leave me be, Anastasia Leave me be.....

Let me suffer in this downtrodden earth My sweet home where my dying bed lies solemnly Let me die here, let me perish here.

I don't want to taste your lips anymore No more in my dreams, no more.

Fuck Palestine: seems to be the general Indian consensus. Well, okay fuck Palestine. But what about Bengal? What about Assam? What about Arunachal? What about Manipur? What about Nagaland? What about Telangana? What about Andaman? What about Kashmir? Kerala? Karnataka?

What about millions of our own country people? People whose lives look like ours? Children who take auto rickshaws to school? Adults who haggle over the price of tomatoes and curse their fate when they step in a pothole? What about those who share your name but will be forgotten because we care more about morals and justifications of genocide instead of people who save their last bite for their children??

Fuck Palestine? Fuck you.

T4T representation, that's it

“oh...” She says, and pauses. He freezes up a little.

He knew this was coming, the realisation, and he's fully prepared for the rejection too.

“You're not a 'real' man then, are you?” She speaks in that deep voice of hers that makes something rumble deep in his core. Something raw and something carnal, something that makes her so much more desirable than other women.

“No...” He says simply, looking up and meeting her eyes as she returns the gaze. “I guess I'm not,” he adds as he continues to look into her eyes intently, accepting defeat, being the ultimate form of vulnerable that was left to be done in front of her.

A smile grows on her face, and she traces a finger along his jaw. It gives him shivers but he forces himself not to break eye contact. She shifts her eyes down to his lips and then back.

“Yes, you are, darling....” She finally says, voice deeper than usual. “Of course you're a Real man,” she puts stress on the word 'real' as she keeps gently caressing his jaw and then his neck, his collarbone and to the shoulder. She slides her fingers under his shirt and pushes off the fabric further to expose his full left shoulder. It's simple, it's subtle, but the act causes a fire to burn in the pit of his stomach.

“You're the Realest man I have ever met.....”

There's a pause. A breath. A sharp intake. And a smile, begrudgingly.

“So are you, by the way,” the man says after his long silence, still not having moved his eyes from her face while she painted him with hers. “The Realest woman I've ever met.”

She looks back up, and there's a glint in her eyes. They both know now, and they both care and don't care at the same time. She chuckles a little and that makes him smile probably the most genuine smile he smiled all evening, ignoring the countless times those present at the party a few hours ago extracted the faux gesture from him by force of habit. She prefers this one, she thinks. She lets him know. He is grateful, and he melts into her. She lets him and pulls him in as for the first time he experiences not being devoured.

She paints on him her long awaited masterpiece and he writes on her skin line after line of poetry he'd rather bottle up any other time.

For both of them, it's freeing. For both of them, it's divine.

অবশেষে।

অবশেষে, টুনি বাতি নিভে যায়, - মিসাইলের আঘাতে মৃতদেহ পড়ে থাকে নিস্পৃহ দেবতার পায়। মা হারা শিশু কাঁদে আকাশের পানে চেয়ে শত শত তারারা বোমা হয়ে পড়ে থাকে মায়াভরা গোছা গোছা গোলাপের পাশে। ম্লান হয়ে আসে গান যুদ্ধের দামামায়, শুধু একরোখা মহাকাশ চেয়ে থাকে; অনাহুত পরবাসী নিজেদের ঘরে। রক্তের উৎসব হানা দেয় মন্দিরে, দালানে। শত কোটি জোড়া চোখ চেয়ে চেয়ে মরে যায় স্বপ্নের আশায় এক গোছা ধ্বংসস্তূপের আড়ালে। মানুষের হাহাকার বারে বারে ফিরে আসে পাহাড়ের গায়ে প্রতিধ্বনিত হয়ে। দিন যায়, রাত যায়, রাজাদের টেবিলে প্রজাদের মেদ আসে সুস্বাদু রসে। যুদ্ধবিমান উপনিবেশ করে মেঘেদের সীমানায়। তবু পৃথিবী ঘুরতে থাকে, আর হিমবাহ বেয়ে চুয়ে পড়ে চোখের জল। মানুষের হাহাকার পৌঁছায়নি ব্রহ্মাণ্ডের গভীরে, শুধু একগোছা লাশ পড়ে থাকে সুদূর গ্রহের কোনায়। কে বা চেনে, যে বা জানে, কে বাঁচে, কে বা মরে, অবিচলিত এক আকাশের নিচে।

Noise A constant How do measure time with it? Sound A calamity Beauty within the music of traffic Asphalt makes love with the grey fumes A product of insanity A product of humanity The street lights flicker Painting the roads white and dark White and dark Glaciers would tremble underneath their fluorescent wrath Bamboo structures paint the city Onset of the component of preparation Makes up the syllable of celebration Wonder is witnessed from stolen glances Unusual height amongst a moving traffic Curiosity from atop the lorry A product of insanity A product of humanity

Russian nesting dolls of pain

Mother, if you look in the mirror under the dim yellow lights at 2 am, Do you ever feel like you're a slightly distorted, less violent version of your own mother? That you're made of the same broken shards of her tears, only in a different light? Or that the blood you pump is tainted in that same weary fluid in her womb when you resided in her, in search of a home that she didn't have too? Your words, your gaze, your voice reverberates her angry stance, Polished and garnished into an ugly blade of decades of oppressed pain, Mother, your hands do not wash the blood she painted you with. Mother, my hands tremble for I see that blood trickling into my veins too, Slowly, and steadily, slithering like a python in its firm calm embrace. The pain shivers me head to toe, flowing like an eternal river since the beginning of time, From mother to daughter, from daughter to mother, In a gyrating loop of a repeated motiff, And we're both stuck here, mother. Mother, when I stand in front of the mirror, I see my reflection tainted in yours, Your reflections tainted in your mother, Outlined and filled in a repeated motiff of hurt and pain and regrets, And an unbridled rage lodged in a brittle shell of love. Mother, are we russian nesting dolls of pain, with our mothers inside our form? I crash on the floor and you come out of my broken shell only to open your dusty lid and show me your mother inside. Hey mother, did your mother's love burn you like stepping into lava too? For, I see you mouthing my words unconsciously, unknowingly, unintentionally, As I do yours, when you cry at night spilling out all the lost happiness you could've not lost if your mother knew better, That I could've not lost if my mother knew better than what she knew to be better. And I cry out asking why did you not know better but this hollow sky answers only with rain, Mother, how could you have known better?

Mother, I hold your hand and my body shrieks coldness and hotness simultaneously, My brain overwhelms itself in understanding the contrasting extremes, As I look at your fiery eyes and find a hurt child only. Mother, we compare lives as if we're commodities in competition in a market, When we're just like each other yet so different and far apart yet so close, My head spins to make sense. Mother, I was born before my birth, in your scars, the moment you did. Mother, I do not know what can satiate this pain, But mother, I need you to see me, see me, see me. For I cannot.

TW: self-harm and suicidal ideation in the second last part

I cry in front of my child And they whisper that I'm not dead They whisper that it's okay They whisper all that I regret

A lonesome sandle lies in the middle of the road Abandoned Neglected The birds fly away in flocks high up in the sky Not witnessing it The cars drive by on both sides Sometimes over it The sandle remains

Sometimes it jumps Gets run over by a car or two But it never tears apart

Not like I do

I see crow's fighting over discarded egg shells Territorial they get They fight until one remains Until one of them wins

I cry on the rooftop My lover leaves me alone I'm alone again And my child downstairs begs for answers

I'm a wreckless, worthless being Searching for love in this wretched world I gave my soul away to existence When I myself never existed at all

Death calls to me I turn my head the other way. Red hot iron on my skin, beckons me I stretch my hands out towards it A pair of scissors, a blue pill Oceans and oceans of emotions drained out Relief Sink me under

My child cries in front of me I have nothing to give I turn my head the other way.

A Fictional Queer lovestory in a Colonial India

Red bow tie in place and umbrella in hand, June set off for the night. This morning she received her fine chestnut brown suit from the dry cleaners. Before leaving through the front gates of her ancestral home, she made sure she touched the feet of her father and then her mother, the two people who despite their shortcomings never left her side. Her father gave her his top hat to wear. It tied her outfit together perfectly.

***

Women like June Niyogi, who dressed, walked, talked and behaved like men, were less in number when she was younger. Growing up she knew she was different and wanted to be different. Luckily for her, her family never stopped her from expressing herself to the fullest. The suffragette movement shaped the minds of many upper middle class families and June was glad to be a part of one of these. From her childhood she was treated equal to her brothers and progressive thoughts were encouraged within the household. Unlike most other Indian girls that were her peers in school, she was taught to think, to question, to speak up. Of course there were girls who were jealous of her and there were girls whose families were not like hers. Many of them planned to get married and did not pursue further education beyond school. Many of them laughed at her for being the way she was. Many elders outside her family too did not like her much and it was visible in the way they talked or communicated with her. But June never let that change who she was. It was difficult at first, but she learnt to fight her wars with words and not guns unlike the world around her.

***

It was a fine summer night in 1939. Outside, it was drizzling ever so slightly. Inside the local bar however, the night was only getting started and so was the heat. Celebration accompanied warmth and alcohol only made the heat rise faster. For June and her friends that wasn't even the slightest of problems.

She had recently finished her LLB in London and returned to her homeland to start practicing. Her father, who was a barrister, was incredibly proud of her and allowed her one night of absolute freedom. Of course he didn't have to know about her countless other nights of escapades with her friends before. As long as she was pleasing her parents, everything was fine.

On this particular night, she was enjoying her redefined womanhood free of prying eyes. She was happy not because of her academic achievements but the direction in which the world was heading. Between drinks she looked around her to find countless more tables filled with people who redefined gender in their own image, and not just women like her. She felt a sense of pride and belonging.

After the fifth glass, things started to blur. The jacket came off, and then the bowtie and eventually the waistcoat. Soon enough the tie was nowhere to be found and the first two buttons of her shirt came loose as well. And not just hers but her entire friend group. Hours must have passed but the drinking persisted.

June was so distracted by her drunken stupor that she did not realize when she was being pushed towards the back quarters of the bar. She had a vague idea why she was being forced there but she didn't want to accept the reality of it all. After all, she had seen countless of her male friends visit this place before. Hushed voices behind drawn curtains, peering eyes from behind half closed doors, and teasing giggles were its residents.

She knew what this place was.

And she knew that most women like her, even though they had the independence of being as manly as they wanted, were virgins.

Because after all, society had not progressed that much yet.

But today, her friends were inclined to change that.

In her rather morally weakened state, June wasn't thinking about how she would have dealt with the consequences of this later. Technically her family should not be angry or even bothered by this. Her older brothers are much worse after all. But she couldn't have been too sure. She had never actually asked about it after all, the sex education bit. Her mother might have mentioned about using protection once or twice. But that was all after marriage, right? Did she even want to marry?

It was too much to handle for her brain then. Despite her feeble attempts at resisting, June was pushed in through double doors which were quickly clicked shut behind her as soon as she was inside. It would remain locked till dawn, she assumed.

She could only barely compose herself before her eyes landed upon the apsara infront of her, sitting coily atop a king sized bed, gently inviting her over with a curled up index finger.

June felt the air being punched out of her gut.

That was definitely the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her entire life.

She wasn't too old herself, in the peak of her early adulthood. Witnessing such raw beauty unsheathed was like a sharpened blade being held against her throat and her unusually large Adam's apple bobbing against it as she swallowed the temptation.

The apsara probably felt it, and understood that something was slightly off.

“It's free tonight Babu, I hope you know that,” she reminded June and her voice made June's knees wobble.

That's right, that's why they chose this bar. She remembers now.

They were regulars and there was something– some occasion other than her graduation, that June can't quite recall, which lined up perfectly for tonight's outing. All the drinks were on the house and some “after service” too.

June hadn't even considered for a second that this was what they meant by “after service”.

June was drunk, the apsara noticed. June was forced, the apsara noticed.

June was trying very hard to contain herself and maintain that gentlemanly look but whatever her “friends” had mixed into her drinks before throwing her in was apparently making itself known.

June needed her help, and that's what the apsara was there for.

“लोग इस अपाहिज को रागिनी बुलाते हैं,'' echoed the angelic voice.

The apsara introduced herself with confidence and swiftly lifted her lehenga to reveal her paralyzed lower limbs, barely crisscrossed to keep her balanced.

“लेकिन आप मुझे क्या बुलाओगे बाबू?” She added flirtatiously with a hint of a smirk.

It was evident that she wanted June to make a move, to get closer and sit near her on the bed, to claim her. But June was tense. Or atleast was trying to be, while her drink was working against it.

With much difficulty June made her way over to the bed. She almost knocked herself over a couple times but her spectacles saved her. Once she sat on the bed facing away from the apsara, she realized for the first time the condition of her garments which was a direct result of the over drinking.

Somehow she had a flower garland around her wrist. White flowers the same as the apsara, Raagini was her name wasn't it?” was also wearing around her hair bun. White flowers that she had seen on many occasions around here before. Noticing this made June's cheeks turn red. Suddenly she felt naked, even though she was at least two more layers away from it.

June was trying very hard not to look but she couldn't help it. Her poetic eyes always got attracted towards beauty, and under influence it was worse.

Why would her friends do this to her?

It was practically torture. They knew she had never laid her hands on a woman before and yet they still sent her in. She agreed on free food for the Babus, but not whatever this was. This was kept from her. And she was now furious on them, furious on herself and scared of what would come next.

June felt a sensation on the top of her palm that rested on the mattress beside her. She looked over to find Raagini's bejeweled hand tracing her protruding veins and the flower garland. June felt a shiver down her spine. It was divine and she wanted more. She wasn't sure if she hated the fact that she wanted more. She looked over her shoulder and Raagini was now quite close, painfully close. June's shirt felt tight, and she wanted to rip it off. But she stayed there, not moving. Just breathing one shuddering breath after the other. Her brow was furrowed, she had beads of sweat on her forehead. June was a mess and it was all her fault for agreeing to come along in the first place.

Raagini tusked. “Look at my poor Babu, all tired and spent.” She lifts her other hand and places it against June's face and June can feel a soft cloth wiping her worries away. She keeps staring deep into the apsara's eyes while she takes care of her and discovers how deliciously brown they are. June wants to drink them. Instead she makes the terrible choice of asking a question.

“W-why,” she hesitates. Raagini shifts her attention from her forehead to her eyes. June gulps. “Why do you do this........for free?”

Within a second of the initial struggle she realizes her mistake of blurting out words without thinking. But before she can do anything about it, it is already too late and she is too drunk to handle this anyway. She watches the apsara's eyes unfocus and turn slightly gray before they pierce a hole into her soul, a smile still attached under her nose ring.

“Are you going to insult the littlest dignity I have left before you ruin me in bed?” Is her bone chilling reply.

If June hadn't been quite on the edge already she sure as hell was by now.

They were close, so close, June noticed. She had never seen a stronger sense of hate from someone's eyes and lips before even though they were a hair's breadth away from a kiss.

June wanted to collide so terribly, she wanted to rip her shirt off and tie the apsara's hands on the bed with it while she “ruined” her. But that wasn't proper. That wasn't June. That was a rabid beast waiting to be unleashed. Her father would not be very proud of that beast. And neither would she. So, instead she breathed into the defiant soul in front of her.

“An apsara like you does not deserve such a fate,”

She could feel their bodies move now, almost matching in sync. The hatred in Raagini's eyes had subsided ever so slightly and a wry smile had replaced it.

“The world is far crueler than the stories you've been fed with as a child, Sahib.” Said Raagini as she pulled the hair in June's nape using her fingers, and June made a sound she had never heard herself make before.

“Especially to people like me.” Raagini finished.

June's hand was already on Raagini's anchal. She took it off, gently, fighting the drug induced inner beast. The veil came off from Raagini's head and body like the purdah sinning to reveal secrecy. But what emerged from underneath was nothing less than a temple. June drank in the sight. Raagini's other free hand started unbuttoning the white shirt June was wearing, that she only bought yesterday. June got busy with the flower's in her hair now. One round after the other and the flowers came off, and long fell a gorgeous braid of thick, black, lustrous hair. June took the braid and gently placed it on the owner's shoulder, bringing all of it to rest against her body till the very end. It got over around the waist and June looked up. She found eyes waiting to be fed.

“Then be mine. Just mine. I'll feed you those same stories I grew up with, and you'll be safe here, with me.” June offered.

At that the Apsara gave a hearty laugh. Suddenly the room was colorful and the night birds were singing a melody June could not recognise. The sliver of the moon coming in through the window grew brighter and defeated the subtle yellow flame of the candle and bathed her trophy in love.

June was drunk. June was in love.

June had never experienced love before, or so she thought. For now, suddenly she recognised the apsara. A laugh was all it took to jog up her memory.

She had seen her before in the marketplace, in glimpses, and heard her too. Heard her laugh. That very same one. An old man usually drove the wheelchair she sat on. She had a sort of air of command around her wherever she went. She would always wear something in black, and still end up looking stunning. She would buy her groceries and the sellers could not play with her. She would laugh when they tried to do so. And that laugh would melt hearts not in a way a lover's does but in a way an arrow of justice pierces the chest. Those who witnessed it face to face would not dare raise another finger in fear of what lies beyond that very saintly laughter. Everyone around her would always obey without questioning. As if she was God herself. June noticed her sometimes in the bar too. But inside the closed doors she was different. Less commanding, more flirting. She would wear red instead of black when inside, and so she was tonight.

In her drunken haze June had been slow to recognize. But now she remembered all those times she noticed stolen glances towards her from this very apsara. She remembered every time she had wanted to interact with the god gifted beauty but somehow something had prevented it. Now that the drink took its turn towards triggering her memory, June remembered every single night she thought about the woman sitting in front of her. She knew her, or at least she wanted to. June wanted Raagini. June wondered what it would feel like to be commanded by an apsara like Raagini.

Before her train of thought could continue any longer, Raagini spoke.

“You're drunk sahib, you do not know what you speak.” She said, still laughing and wiping a tear off from the corner of her eyes. She supported her weight with her hands around June's neck and June didn't notice when her hands went instinctively around her waist.

There was a pause where both of them stared intently into each other.

There was a breath.

“You asked me what I shall call you tonight, when I first came in through that door” said June.

“I did. Has your eminence decided upon something?” Chuckled Raagini, playing it cool.

“Shall I call you Raag?” Asked June, innocently.

“Anger?” Raagini asked in a wry tone and perked up an eyebrow, curiously. “Why anger?”

“If I chose love over lust tonight, would you not be angry with me?” Replied June.

There was complete silence.

“Oh Raag, sweet Raag,” June continued with the given opportunity, her drink taking over again, “Tell me, if I tell you even in my drunken stupor I've been telling you the truth? If I tell you that this is not the first time I've seen you and I've wanted to know you ever since I saw you in that bazaar? If I told you only fate has brought us together tonight and I wouldn't touch a cell on your body unless you ask me to, would you believe me? Or would you be angry with me?”

More silence. June continued.

“Tell me Raag, am I like the others who come in through those doors and don't leave before dawn? Or am I special? Lie to me that you haven't noticed me from behind the curtains every time I came into this pub to drink away my frustration? Tell me you haven't dreamed about this night every time you've served me a pint and rolled out of my sight the moment I raised my head and asked your name? Tell me Raag, tell me you aren't angry with me because I've noticed you? Tell me a lie that's sweeter to my ears than your rejection. Tell me you hate me, tell me you don't want me, tell me that you're doing me a service. Tell me once more to ruin you and watch me deny–”

There's an audible slap. Bejeweled hands collide with soft cheeks and Nick the skin drawing blood as red as shame. June's head turns to the side. She raises her palm to her swollen cheek on the place of impact and rubs it gently.

June smiles.

“You do hate me don't you, Raag?”

Raagini is crying, June can tell.

June can tell by how hungry their kiss is. How much Raagini whimpers and shakes under her but refuses to let her go.

June lets Raagini take her in. She opens up her mouth. She allows Raagini to ruin her while she only rests her hand on Raagini's hair. Raagini is furious, all consuming. Her hunger is untouchable, uncontrollable. The rest of the buttons from June's shirt rip open and her torso is exposed. Raagini traces her fingers over June's chest scars and June shivers under her touch as she breathes into her mouth. She makes noises she would later be ashamed of.

And then, as suddenly as it started, Raagini stops.

They're both breathing heavily when they part.

“How dare you?” Raagini's voice is hoarse, barely a whisper.

“How dare You?” June pants heavily, like a loser.

It's sickening. It's painful, this love. But tonight, two souls decide to burn.

***

Sitting on a tightrope meant for walking she talks, “he and his new gf are coming contain yourself.” As if my blood would spill from my pours when it boils at the sight of him. As if he would run in the other direction when my words come out of my mouth and push him in a corner. As if the music would stop, the drinks would be over and the grass would turn brown.

I contained myself when I was 9 in a burqa, so I could hide the stench of blood clots my dad decorated on my back. I learnt to shrink in a space only in heaven they heard me sing

I have lost too much of myself to keep people in my life. Can you see, I'm nothing but a backbone now? How dare you tell me to bend?

Thank me for not setting the whole world on fire for what it did to me.

When I asked for help, all I got was hurt as if I was snow white on a poisoned apple I had to became the witch.

My Nani told me, every woman is a lamb after dark and every man out there is hungry Do you see? I am still here after he took chunks off me when he put his long nails on my neck.

There's still so much of me left.

Do you see the statue they made of me in the clouds? Do you hear the collective consciousness whisper ideas to me? Do you feel the mark mercy left on my forehead? Do you smell the stench of a thousand suns on my skin? Do you taste the burn when you savour me and tell me to go back to the ice as if I was a corpse And he was alive?

#A Room of One's Own

I can't live where I want to in my budget but a family can? The bias that house owners have is just pathetic. I live in a house currently which is quite an inconvenience to me. I tolerate it because of my freedoms. But I realize now, my freedoms have been illusionary. They're dependent on such basic things.

I tolerate it when the voltage issue makes my house look like a dimly lit Pecos or for some a haunted house. I tolerate bad plumbing. I am constantly reparing things around the house. Rich people keep disrupting my routine. Nobody helps clean but everybody helps destroy this house's floors, switches, my mugs, and walls. Some rich vegan girl who hates adult lady terms broke the toilet seat and has not paid for it. She drank a lot of almond milk in my house for free.

I asked a bunch of painters to come paint my house and they'd rather paint for Instagram than the friend who gave them gigs that made them famous.

I'll do it myself.

I want carpets but it's ground floor and there's too much dust plus my friends seem to never respect the fact that wet shoes are not welcome inside. I want creepers but there's no direct sunlight. Artificial light is at the mercy of poor connection in this house. A few basic things in this house are so dysfunctional. I don't even have a locker to keep anything locked.

I want to cook but there's no air in the damn kitchen. They've closed the chimney. No exhaust fan. Everything sticks because of it. Dust on top of that.

Dry sinks, welcome cockroaches. Keeping the drains clean is also an issue?

There are no shelves with doors. There's no logical arrangement to keep anything in the kitchen.

The hall has out of place really fucked up shelf that keeps hitting me. The mattress on the floor restricts me from brooming because it is too damn heavy.

I hate changing the lights in this house again and again. White light looks bad. Yellow light looks bad. What lights should I put in this damn house?

The shower has an issue with pressure despite me having a seperate tank. I mean for fucks sake I can't even dance in the shower without hitting my elbows against something.

You live on the mercy of when water comes. Tank gets filled.

And it is bloody unpredictable.

My boyfriend says it's alternative days but it's been proven wrong too.

Plus storing is an issue. There's no place for a drum.

I can't keep the washing machine in the toilet. It's a second hand machine that is automatic and cost me only 5k. Have to keep this beloved piece of legend outside the house. People on the street can see in my house easily if I just keep the door open.

There's always water leaking somewhere in this house no matter much you tighten the valves.

I don't have a quiet corner for writing except at nights – 2:30am.

I feel like I'm suffocating in my house.

I have no curfew. I have no restrictions yet it feels like a prison of micro aggressions.

I adjust but I'm so tired. I want basic shit at least. Sunlight but no fucking noise and dust.

All the basic shit is with landlords who charge too much or only rent to families.

PGs have restrictions.

I need a room of my own. The kind that Virginia Woolf described.

‘you do realise you were raped, right?’ i didn’t want to answer. the question coming from someone almost a decade younger has better understanding of boundaries than i do. i knew they were right. but i didn’t want to answer. i knew the answer, i was just not ready to accept it. ‘i consented’, i said meekly.

he always had higher sex drive than me. but he always assured me that he would stop if i ever were uncomfortable. the first time someone did stop when i said no, i cried in their arms. it was years before i met him. i have times when i do not have sex at all. to me sex feels like a time pass that you do when there is not much else to do, and i always have things to do. and he was respectful at the beginning. he stopped when i said no, or i wasn’t in the mood. i took it as a sign that he is nice. i also felt bad. i knew he has higher drive than me, and me not being able to meet his needs has made me feel guilty about myself. what was my worth if i can’t give him everything he wanted from me? i loved him. i would have given my life for him.

first time it happened was in a party. he drank. i did not. i was trying to be off alcohol. he kept touching me in front of others, and i was uncomfortable. previously i have broken up with another partner who did this sober, in daytime, in cafes. this time i justified it by telling myself that he is drunk, he is at home, with me. i did say no, and he stopped for sometime, and then he said, he is sleepy, and whether i can accompany him to the bedroom and lie by him till he falls asleep. i agreed. he started undressing me as soon as i got in, and the door wasn’t even locked. i tried to stop but he said he can’t stop because i am so attractive. i did feel desired. so despite the fear that someone might just walk in on us and see me naked, i gave in. he went to sleep once he was done, and i laid awake with guilt.

he said sorry the next day. he also said he is hornier on alcohol and he also is hornier by the fact that he might get caught and it carried him away last night. but he loves me and can’t think of doing this with anyone but me. i thought to myself, that it is just one time then.

as he cut me off from my friends and kept telling others that they should contact him instead of me, i got more and more isolated. it was only him who was giving me validation and i felt grateful towards him. i would have done anything to keep him happy, to keep myself desirable to him.

he kept asking other people to the house, and as they were sleeping, more often than not, his hands would go inside my top. he would play with my boobs and eventually his hands would go down. he wanted me to wear skirts during bedtime. he said it provided easy access. i took it as a sign that he desires me badly. he got me skirts too, and i am always partial to skirts because they go spinny.

i said no multiple times. at the beginning he would stop, but with more time he just got more bold. i never wanted to have sex with someone present in the bed. so, i wanna be able to move freely, and i wanna be able to moan and make noise. i could do none of that. i also did not wanna have sex clothed, under sheets, and taking on his body weight, that was hot and sweaty and uncomfortable. but if i didn’t gave in, he wouldn’t stop. he kept doing it till 4 or 5 in the morning. i am the designated homemaker. i had to take care of the house, i had to drop off garbage, clean up. and i cant do that if i get to sleep at 5 am and wake up at 12 or 1 pm. so i gave in. it was over much quicker that way. i got to sleep early.

this turned into a ritual. he would invite people over. there would always be someone in the house, sleeping in the bed despite me crying begging to him to have alone time with him. he would invite others and tell me that they wanted to come and they need to be here. i have always struggled with my inability to say no. he knew this, and took complete advantage of that. this i got to know when i told my friends and they said they never asked to come beforehand, he always invited them. and if they wanted to talk to me, he would tell them i am not mentally well enough to have a conversation, i am depressed and overwhelmed. which i was, but i wanted to talk to people that came over to my house.

every night, for months on end, he would keep doing the same to me. if i initiated sex when we were alone, he would flat out refuse to. once he went out, and i put on sexy lingerie, lit up candles, and lied down on the bed like one of those french girls you want to paint. he walked in and burst into laughter. i have never felt that bad ever in my life, i could do nothing but cry, and he said he laughed because he did not expect to see me that way. now i know, at this point he has been cheating on me for months. when he went to mumbai a few months before, he stayed with this wannabe influencer who has been called out as a groomer before, and both of them sported hickies that were not there before. he told others that i gave him to them, but he wouldn’t sleep with me when we were alone, and it happened almost two weeks after he left for pune, even if i gave him hickies, they would have been gone by then.

yet, i liked to think i consented. but when i told my therapist this, they said, it doesn’t count because it was never an enthusiastic yes. i did not have the choice to say no, because saying no made things worse for me, so yeah, what my friends have been saying is right. i was raped. day in and day out, for months. by someone i loved and cared for deeply. and he didn’t see me as a human, but an object for his perverse desires. i do not know how that makes me feel. i do not want to believe i was raped, i do not want to believe an intimate partner was sexually violent towards me, abused me as he pleased, and abandoned me when his needs were met.

i gave him everything he wanted out of me, and i gave him space to heal, and even that wasn’t enough for him to love me. maybe i’ll never be enough for someone. i have been loyal, i have been subservient, i supported him when he had no work from my savings. and that wasn’t enough. i am never enough.

but it is okay, i can’t change the past. i do realise i am not dateable, i can give a lot of labour, but no one is willing to love me for it. so i’d do this labour for me, at least i can’t abandon myself even if i wanted to.

Fruits for my fruits

Disclaimer Welcome to intuitive cooking. These recipes are to unleash the chaos in you. No measurements, just vibes

This ones for all the health conscious queers who've bullied me into caring for myself. Thank you. Without you, I'd forever be in heartburn hell surrounded by eno

Ingredients

• Crunchy fruits
• Soft juicy fruits
• Berries which aren't fruits but consumed as such
• No tomato even though it is a fruit
• Salt
• Honey
• Citrus fruit juice/vinegar
• A fruity foodie to consume said fruits

Instructions

• Chop up your fruits in bite size pieces. I used apples, guava, kiwi, bananas (peeled), and pineapples.
• Top with some freshly squeezed orange/lime juice. You can also use mosambi juice. Sprinkle some salt and a generous helping of honey.
• Mix and consume fresh.

Alternative

• You can mix some pasta amd cheese with this to make a spring/summer pasta salad.
• You can use this as toppings in pancakes.
• You can use this in custard.
• You can make boba balls with these.

Let me know if you'd like quick recipes for boba balls