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I'm chandelier earrings up for rent by the hour in dark alleys with betel stains, a child-woman waiting for her customer. I'm a thick bush of petals for your daily worship.
I’m chandelier earrings up for rent by the hour in dark alleys with betel stains, a child-woman waiting for her customer. I’m a thick bush of petals for your daily worship.
I wear a Peter Pan hat and a red gown
that slowly unfurls.
Tiny vermillion dots tail me,
bringing bell metal and incense in their wake.
You sew me up when
I’m still a kid, say it’s a garland pure for gods —
I writhe in shock, then numbing pain…
I quench your thirst
with blood, my tart blood.
I’m your shoeshine girl…
for centuries, clearing out the muck beneath your feet.
Pity your conscience doesn’t
shine enough.
I’m chandelier earrings up for rent
by the hour in dark alleys with betel stains,
a child-woman waiting
for her customer.
I’m a thick bush of petals
for your daily worship.
I’m also a warship, slashed and burned
and cigarette-butted into submission —
I’m a chameleon, really.
But most of all, I am raw flesh,
a naked goddess,
throbbing with all the gore
I have drunk, slick with the
sweat of justice.
They call me a chilli
sometimes, when the heat
bothers them too much.
Image source: IanZa on pixabay
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Being a writer, Nivedita Louis recognises the struggles of a first-time woman writer and helps many articulate their voice with development, content edits as a publisher.
“I usually write during night”, says author Nivedita Louis during our conversation. Chuckling she continues,” It’s easier then to focus solely on writing. Nivedita Louis is a writer, with varied interests and one of the founders of Her Stories, a feminist publishing house, based in Chennai.
In a candid conversation she shared her journey from small-town Tamil Nadu to becoming a history buff, an award-winning author and now a publisher.
Nivedita was born and raised in a small town in Tamil Nadu. It was for schooling that she first arrived in Chennai. Then known as Madras, she recalls being awed by the city. Her love-story with the city, its people and thus began which continues till date. She credits her perseverance and passion to make a difference to her days as a vocational student among the elite sections of Madras.
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