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Namakarana by Ajay Kumar Nair

Art by Saito Kiyoshi

dog eat grass. grass eat man.

november rain is like that

whatsapp forward-

a funny looking man one side

& a funny looking woman

upside down.

my great grandma

died while boning fish.

she just fell over

like a daruma doll

like an impossibility.

my friend texts me from delhi- bhai, it’s like a furnace in here & we got tickets for the india-bangladesh tomorrow, exclamation mark, party emoji. grandma only had white saris & all a wonderful stainless. she washed more fish than a river & more tenderly too. I’d point at a flower & ask- what’s that called? at a bug- what’s that called? at a point in life you just start calling them whatever you feel like calling them, she says I name this sardine your grandpa! november rain is the stroke of the midnight hour- dark. november rain is the sound of angry insects banging on a glass door. I’d point at a rain drop & she’d say- a raindrop has a single jump yet look how eager it is to fall.

Ajay Kumar Nair is a student and writer from Chennai, India. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Rattle, Muse India, The Shore, Vita Brevis and The Bangalore Review among others.


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