Anitha Krishnan writes Indian-inspired fantasy fiction with a dash of mysticism and soul-searching. She lives in Burlington, Ontario with her husband and their cherished child.
life, unadulterated
Today I graduated with an MBA degree from UofT. A two-year course that took me a little more than three years to complete, what with the joyous arrival of little D. The convocation was such a special occasion I wanted to write about it before the beautiful bits of
life, unadulterated
On the first day of October, after D woke up from his afternoon nap, he was resting on my shoulder and I was singing to him. I remembered Annie's Song from a very long time ago and started to sing that. I was well into the song when
life, unadulterated
There is no sound that D won't dance to. The clang of the garbage truck emptying rubbish bins into itself. The rat-a-tat-tat-tat grind of the coffee machine. Even the blare emanating from a car whose alarm system has gone bonkers. And then there'
life, unadulterated
D is one. The only one. (Couldn't resist this!) In the days leading up to D's first birthday, almost everyone I spoke with said to me some variation of this - "Wow! Is he going to be one already? I can't believe it. This
life, unadulterated
D is two days away from turning a year old. And this year, in addition to showing us how to love and live with a whole new tiny human being in our lives, has also been replete with the delight of re-discovering KrA, in his new avatar as a
poetry
A teeny weeny poem of mine is hanging from a tree and fluttering in the summer breeze at the Waterford Township Public Library at Michigan! And it will be there all of this month. It is titled When it Snows in Spring. I am also back to having fun putting
life, unadulterated
I slipped to the other side of mid-30s last year. A year on that side has left me feeling a bit cheated and with the realisation that long ago I was somehow tricked into this business of growing up, and that I have kept at it only half-heartedly
poetry
I walked with you from room to room watched your every step with all my heart sauntered up every lane and alley and street corner beside you, stitching memories together to rein me in, to keep me from falling apart when you’d be gone, for I knew you would
life, unadulterated
In an alternate version of reality, 2016 thus far would have panned out the way I had envisaged last November (or so I’d like to believe). More than twenty new Friday Tales for Demesne would have popped up on the blog so far this year. A first draft of
life, unadulterated
Less than four hours to go before 2015 disappears like it never existed and 2016 descends upon us like a new dawn. I didn’t mean to do an end-of-the-year post but there were two things that came to mind this evening and that I wanted to
life, unadulterated
I am really excited about my birthday this year! The day was spent in furnishing a new place we are moving to next weekend. And somehow this 'paving the way for the new' looks set to be the theme for my writing this year. There are 3 major
tales for dreamers
The Piano Man is no Pied Piper for he makes no demands, but he too seeks something no mortal can give him.