Come 5th January 2017, I’ll have made 9 months in Germany. Though I call Göttingen my home, I spend a considerable percentage of my time in Aachen – a city I’ll write about soon – or elsewhere, making Göttingen feel not completely familiar or home-like. In October 2016, I moved from Kreuzbergring to Göttingen’s Innenstadt. … Continue reading Fresh from the Womb
Tag: avrina jos
[Writing isn’t easy to forget. And writing doesn’t need a paper. Balconies illustrate this perfectly. When I stand at it, looking at the covering and uncovering of the sun, I’m writing. There are words that ring in my head. Pound. In Berlin last week, I sat at the banks of the Spree and watched a … Continue reading Now in Gö, New in Gö
(No. 2 of the Romanian Series) After a dull June morning at the Immigration Office in Brasov, I head to Piata Sfatului. I go in and out of local banks asking them if I’d be allowed to open a bank account to support my visa extension. At BRD I’m a tourist, at Raiffeisen (where I … Continue reading The Black Church, Brasov – An Insignification
We're at Vaclav Havel Airport. He’s older than me. 25, to be specific. His green full sleeved shirt has become a part of him. He’s worn it so often that every time I think of him, I think of him with it. He returns from the toilet, sits next to me. I have to go … Continue reading Vaclav Havel Airport, Prague
Ports are places of many comings and goings. But there is a stillness and silence in them. Porto Antico, the old port of Genova in Italy did not smell like the sea. It smelled like a culmination of journeys. “There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life is … Continue reading Porto Antico
Genova Voltri, 8th June. I have mixed feelings about the sea. I forget it sometimes – that somewhere beyond this city I live in is an end of land and an immense of water. When I remember it, there is an urge to go to it. As much as I like the word ‘eternal’, there … Continue reading Genova Voltri – An Italian beach
It is a purple night. The coniferous trees are tapering to the sky in dangerous sharpening of tools. The canopied ones look like fleshy scythes. Kenilworth Castle is a mound of black. We walk down to Abbey Fields Park. Two parapet walls on either side mark the entry to the parking lot. There are other … Continue reading Abbey Fields
She removed herself swiftly from the cab in front of Canley Crematorium and began to jot down in words the following: ‘Entrance to Charter Chapel, Gardens of Remembrance and Cemetry’. The map at the very entrance caught her eye: of course, it wasn’t everyday that she came across areas marked ‘Weeping Willow’, ‘Book of Remembrance’, … Continue reading Canley Crematorium
It’s called the hidden gem of Warwickshire. But we find it easily- nestled on the A429, next to the International Warwick Riding School and a few miles away from where Edward Plantagenet was supposedly beheaded. We creep quietly with our cars, leaving tracks in gravel which is wet constantly by the constancy of rain. This … Continue reading Remains and Leftovers – Guy’s Cliffe House
I was one of those people who scorned at street graffiti being called art, now I am saved. But I am not going to call it Street Art or Wall Art or Contemporary Art, I’m going to call it Art. There is Art everywhere in Shoreditch – on a locksmith’s door, on a Punjabi restaurant’s … Continue reading Shoreditch, proclaim, proclaim, art.
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