pen.books.and.scalpel

“How did you know I was the one for you?” he asked curiously for the hundredth time.   “It’s just... I just knew it from here,” I gave him the same answer as always, gently tapping my chest and sipping on my sparkling rose lemonade. It tasted heavenly, as always.    It’s been our ritual to order the “rose melange” at the Cafe des Fleurs for every anniversary, a concoction of rose petals, lemon zests, mint, ginger, salt, sugar and soda. The nostalgic smell of rose wafting through the air is enough to reminisce about the events of our momentous day.  We always have it with a serving of flaming hot marinara pasta for me and a strawberry eclair for him. It has always been this way. In our relationship, I am the spice, and he is the sweet. Things wouldn’t have worked between us otherwise.    That was how I met him here first. I was having a bad day and was sulking at my seat, alone and staring out the window with my plain lemon...

As the tenebrous sky alights in the north With its embers rampaging the desolate night, I could see blisters erupt in the air Akin to those tender under my flesh and hair.   Our silent wails emerged, looking for an answer Who could have done what, here and over the yonder? “It was me” - screeched the ashen pile of timber! “No, it was me” bickered the cracked and healed decanter.   But can I not see the flickering butt end in a pound of foliar? All glowing and forgotten after a moment of leisure, Those cherry bombs and flower pots, hidden and deflated Rejoicing the quiescence after a night of adventure. As the hot wind blew, winning over fair and square  With fiery danglers like tendrils in the air,  Sparkling and swaying to their left and then to the right Adding to the barren land’s incessant plight.   Whom shall I ask? How does it stop?  There has to be someone on the top of it all “Oh, poor souls, pardon us”, there came a squawk It said - “we have erred;...

Her eyes welled up like the tides that rose a few feet away. What did they mean by “You can’t come here anymore”? Who were they to stop her from visiting her leisure spot, Kolanji wondered.  It was the same sea she watched with her eyes wide open the first time her parents took her there as a child. The same beach that made her dizzy when she submerged her feet in the waves for the first time when she was three. The same sea where she dipped in now and then when she was drowsy with happiness. She would be left drenched from head to toe, drawing her mother’s wrath towards the end of the day. Her father would giggle and drag her back to the same spot where they would spend hours bathing their dog, Subbu.  “Where the hell have you three been? Do you even know what time it is? No dinner for any of you today,” Kolanji’s mother would vent her spleen out but would not affect the daughter-father duo whatsoever. Subbu would shudder to dry himself up and wind around Kolanji, wagging his...

BOOK NAME: THE TREES AUTHOR NAME: PERCIVAL EVERETT GENRE: SATIRE PUBLISHER: PICADOR BOOKS BOOK BUY LINK:   https://amzn.in/d/gflc12x BOOK RATING: 5✨ BOOK IMAGE BOOK REVIEW I didn’t know there existed a genre that could seamlessly mix horror, humour, social commentary, fantasy, and satire and still be profound and relevant. I am surprised but elated that this did not find itself on the banned books list because it could have easily landed there for pushing all the right buttons!!  In The Trees, the author has chosen to weave a tale around the real-life lynching incident of a 14-year-old African-American, Emmett Till, in 1955, who was wrongly accused of trying to get friendly with a white woman. What starts as a discovery of a gruesome murder of two people, one of them white and the other one black, who disappears after each crime only to commit another, becomes an uprising of the oppressed against the oppressors - a recurring theme that’s enjoyable nevertheless.  I wi...