Red Fish: I’m a tiny child from a tiny village in Madhya Pradesh; my village is typically colorful and playful. My house, though, is blue. Because my dad likes blue.
He also likes corn. He’s taught me how to harvest corn.
You see all these corn cobs beneath my feet, well, I helped my dad with growing them, you know. They’re mine!
And yes, this swing here, this is where my five siblings and I sleep. This is our place.
Little days:
I’ve not known what ‘childhood’ is, and that’s okay.
I get to take care of my little sister here so I won’t crib.
But whenever I look at those kids in their chaddis playing in the sand outside, something in me slides way beneath its position. I feel a weird tingling sensation inside, as if I am being coaxed by the universe to abandon my responsibilities and take up that identity.
I, obviously, can’t.
Won’t.
I’m happy being with my sister, feeding her, changing her clothes, and standing here at the window- looking at the lovely world out there. I’m happy where I am.
Uptown Elegance:
These fairy lights, flickering as if lit by a fire as cold as my heart, are all I have to call my own.
They’re my rooftop, my blanket, my floor; they’re the only support system I have.
I look at them- sleepy eyed- most midnights, and wish upon them for a love so strong, it’ll flip this fire upside down.
Fill my lungs with the giddy passion I had as a teenager, empty my head of logic, overwhelm my thoughts, bleed me to death.
These fairly lights, with a name so comforting, remind me of my fairy godmother; my mom always told me while she was in the hospital, that she would turn into my fairy god mother and stay with me till my end.
Alas, I grew up.
But these fairy lights- with their elegance and sass- are the only reminder of any love I’ve ever had.
Stoney Billy:
Hey Ya’ll, I almost read this as Stoned Billy; hi my name is Billy. But I’m not as stoned right now as I usually am.
Oh the radio? well the radio is my heart you see. Everytime I fall in love, my heart skips a beat and the frequency changes. Yeah I know I’m a shitty artist but god, I have to emote!
I don’t know about you guys but I can’t live without a little drama.
Oh, and I’m old school too; so if you ever want to tell me anything important, just make a mixtape or a radio recording of it, and I’ll share my weed with you.
Folktale:
Once upon a time, there was a village near Kanhan- oh Kanhan is where that tiny boy is from!
This village was known for ghosts and oddly, for the purest air in India; they said that the oxygen content in that village was so high, people often described it as ‘paradise’.
Sadly, nobody lives there anymore.
The village’s residents have all died, lying unburied, turning into ghosts each day.
Except for a broken board near the narrow gauge track, nothing suggests of this village’s existence.
My maid tells me this is just a folktale, but for a person who loves scary movies, I wouldn’t want to agree with her.
Home made apple:
Best friend: Look up look up! Isn’t this a wonderful feeling? I love looking up, at trees. At such a blue sky. It’s so soothing: just the head tilting, the blood rushing abnormally.
I: yeah, I feel like I’m on a beach, even though this is a public garden.
Best friend: Let’s go to a fucking beach then!
I: Let’ go!
Best friend: so yeah, before that, which movie do you want to watch right now?! And what do you want to eat? I’m really hungry!
Znikomit: This is our hideout. Our getaway.
This is ours.
No, this is of no religious importance to us.
She’s a Hindu and I’m agnostic.
We’ve sat on its stairs, at 3:00 in the noon, and discussed the most dramatic life events.
We almost got raped the first time we visited this place, but obviously, she has a little too much faith in humanity; she just won’t agree on the intentions of the man who led us into the tiny room on top of the church.
Who leads you in and closes the door behind you huh?
We almost got raped, believe me.
The steps to the room were dwindling, circling the huge bell hanging at the centre.
The only other company we had, was of the pigeons and our hysterical breath.
This is out hideout. Our getaway. This is where most of it began.
Note: All the utilized typefaces have been downloaded from this brilliant site called ‘101 free fonts’. All pictures are (sadly) mine; Stories, mine.
Each photo, typeface and story/anecdote has been integrated in a way that- together- they convey a sense of wholeness to you- developing each story into a character if its own.
This is just an experiment. More to be created soon.
Contemporarycrap 
