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“Bombaykala: Call for Book Submissions”

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The Mumbai Art Collective has now merged with Artyculate and is now collectively called Bombaykala!

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Mother Nature by Adyot Rajadhyaksha.

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Poetry for this week!

Handpicked and constructively criticised by our very own founder, Ishaan Jajodia.

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She’s coughing up seconds. Heaving and sputtering, trying to trap the corrupted air chafing against her lungs as she inhales minutes that taste sour on her medication saturated tongue. She’s coughing up months on her tattered white handkerchief, gripped in her palms as firmly as her frail skeletal hands can muster. She’s coughing up blood. But her parched throat doesn’t know how to tell the difference between the metallic taste of dying cells and the fading bittersweetness of time anymore.

Tamarind Fall; Cancer. NaPoWriMo day 2. (via blackpenwritings)

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I’m drowning. The wind is fresh and sharp but I’m gasping for breath. The world is spinning into hurricanes and tornadoes. The world is hauntingly still. My chest is tightening as I suffocate, My lips, shivering, turning blue. I can’t remember a time when my lungs didn’t know poison. I can’t remember a time when I opened my mouth to speak, and didn’t swallow my words to feed my anxiety. And somewhere in my chest, reverberates a bitter hollowness. Somewhere in my head, shadows of fears creep their way, inch by inch, settling like ivy in my bloodstream. That maybe, it’s not this place which is toxic. That maybe, the only one drowning is me.

Tamarind Fall NaPoWriMo day 1. (via blackpenwritings)

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-Jenny Bhatt Titled: How to tie yourself into knots.

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-Adyot Rajadhyaksha

Our souls are dripping from paper today.

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-Bansini

Like reptiles, their hands wrap themselves around your throat and grip it tight, suffocating every word that had the courage to breathe on your tongue. From the day you were born, you’ve been taught to shut up, not share your opinions, and to listen to the rest of the world screaming in your head. Maybe it’s time to carve your words into knives, and rip their hands apart before you rip your own tongue out in fear of forgetting how to use it at all.

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Flora Fountain in Monsoon (1945)

- S.H. Raza

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Maharani Ahilyabai Holkar (1725-1795) Creator: Tara Anand.

“Ahilyabai Holkar, the ‘philosopher-queen’ of Malwa, had evidently been an acute observer of the wider political scene. In a letter to the peshwa in 1772 she had warned against association with the British, and likened their embrace to a bear-hug: “Other beasts, like tigers, can be killed by might or contrivance, but to kill a bear it is very difficult. It will die only if you kill it straight in the face, Or else, once caught in its powerful hold, the bear will kill its prey by tickling. Such is the way of the English. And in view of this, it is difficult to triumph over them.” -John Keay.

Here’s a little something for the underappreciated Indian women of the past.

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-Rajkamal Aich

Creativity out of the unconventional. ‘Rain isn’t loved, when it brings rust When locked doors wouldn’t open, we do what we must, But the keys we hold, and the secrets they unveil, Turn red with rage, harder than iron and steel And suddenly the doors that could once be opened, are now slammed shut Some doors aren’t meant to be opened, when all their hearts can ever contain, is dirt.’ -Tamarind Fall

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Mumbai, India

Seven-year-old Ashima plays with her unusually coloured pet chick in a slum area of the city

Photograph: Shailesh Andrade/Reuters

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-Radhika Khetan

And the darkness is always devastated by the shadow of the moon.

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-Tanay Mahtani

The world is so much more intricate when we stop looking at the bigger picture.

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Mumbai Slum. India.