About

A reader who had forgotten what it meant to write. A writer who had forgotten what it meant to read.

A reader who is returning to write. A writer who is returning to read.

After an eon.

And also a gentle, but persistent nudge from her sister-in-crime.

“Mistaken are those who imagine that silence is without life; that it is inanimate, without either spirit or voice. It is not: indeed the Word is to this silence what the shadow is to the foreshadowed, what the veil is to the eyes, what the mind is to truth, what language is to life.”

                                     Phulboni in The Calcutta Chromosome by Amitav Ghosh

I also blog here.