Category Archives: Chronic Thinker

Come Out When You Please

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The Word SHOULD

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A Love Letter

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On Goodness

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A Story That Wrote Me

This has been a year of such drastic changes and shifts that my whole outlook has been the here and now – surviving these. But I am a creature of nostalgia and the past doesn’t impede me. It teaches me, it nurtures me and it gives me fodder for the future.

This Sunday, I attended a storytelling session organised by Spill Poetry. Bring personal stories only, they’d said. I approached the stage with no prior preparation for the first time in nearly three years. Poetry and Spoken word have become such polished, seasoned ventures and I’m nothing if not competitive. But oral storytelling? I had no references.

This has been a year of such drastic changes and shifts that my whole outlook has been the here and now – surviving these. But I am a creature of nostalgia and the past doesn't impede me. It teaches me, it nurtures me and it gives me fodder for the future. This Sunday, I attended a storytelling session organised by Spill Poetry. Bring personal stories only, they'd said. I approached the stage with no prior preparation for the first time in nearly three years. Poetry and Spoken word have become such polished, seasoned ventures and I'm nothing if not competitive. But oral storytelling? I had no references. I started to weave a tale from something that happened to me in 2005. At the time, it happened so quickly and in such an over way, I barely had a chance to notice how much it changed me. But it did – me, my relationship with the city and my sense of security, home and independence. I overshot my time limit but the organisers were kind enough to let me continue and the audience kind enough to listen and tell me they could relate. I am so grateful to have had a chance to stop and examine my past and share it with you. Thank you. #openmic #spokenword #liveperformance #performance #shayar #shaayari #sher #ghazal #mehfil #maqta #story #storytelling #stories #storyteller #personalstories #mumbaifloods #mumbai #mumbaiker #mumbaiwriters #mumbairains #26thjuly #spillpoetry

A post shared by Ramya Pandyan (@ideasmithy) on

I started to weave a tale from something that happened to me in 2005. At the time, it happened so quickly and in such an over way, I barely had a chance to notice how much it changed me. But it did – me, my relationship with the city and my sense of security, home and independence. I overshot my time limit but the organisers were kind enough to let me continue and the audience kind enough to listen and tell me they could relate. I am so grateful to have had a chance to stop and examine my past and share it with you. Thank you.

Here is the story that I told.

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

 

Unfriends

Friend, I’ve lost my way to us and I am angry with you. Wasn’t it your place to guide me back when the current of life carried me away from friendship? Isn’t that a friend’s job?

Friend, I don’t know if I’m made for friendship. Everyone who has called me friend, has turned away. You’re the only one who looked back. But maybe that’s just your roving eye.

Friend, love is spelt with four letters. And it means whatever you shape it to mean.

Friend, that’s a nice word and I can’t think of anything to rhyme with it or anyone to fit it. So I’ll just turn it over and over in my mind. After all, who’s a writer’s best friend but a blank sheet of paper?

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The Terraces of Mumbai 

The Terraces of Mumbai

The terraces of Mumbai
are dusty and tile-speckled,
rising above even the highest floors.

The terraces of Mumbai
are most often visible only
through an airplane window
or a satellite feed.

The world calls us cold
and unromantic but
the terraces of Mumbai
see surreptitious lovers
meet and exchange
closeted affections.
We carry our base instincts
above our heads.

But don’t judge us for that.
The terraces of Mumbai
also carry stolen satellite transmission
and a dead body or two.

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Co-dependency Ritual

Co-dependency Ritual

Let’s knot a tie
and make conformity respectable
Let’s tie a knot
and turn bondage into ritual
Let’s finger these traps
and label them protection
Let’s trap those fingers
and call it love and affection

Happy Denial Day,
Whatever label you give it today.

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Tips To Deal With Me

No tipping
No walking on tiptoe
No scaling the tips
No tiptop conditions
Be yourself, only at your softest.

We don’t like sharp edges here.
Except for, well, this statement.

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