I am a very ordinary writer. I write about mundane, abstract things in an obscure style -- a deadly combination that usually repels readers.

My current situation is not something a lot of readers will identify with. I belong to a niche of Indian diaspora who are also new mothers and also live very far away from their friends and family in a city where nothing is accessible unless you know how to drive ( something I haven't quite mastered yet), and are also temporarily debarred by the government from having full-time, paid jobs (because of the kind of visa they are on) and are also a little tired of academics after acquiring two master degrees and working hard at part-time jobs that didn't lead to anything very fruitful yet.

To top it all, I have a very fragile ego because of which any criticism makes me want to run and hide under the covers and never come out again.

And still, because of some nihilistic reason, words and sentences keep pouring out of me onto this blog ... which would be fine ... except ... they suddenly now wish to be read by people other than my husband and my brother.

If you are still reading this and have somehow managed to stay awake and be interested in reading what I write, here's my blog: