When I first traveled to London, my manager had booked a house in Leytonstone. We must have spent a week there. It was a dark and dingy place, about an hour's train ride from our workplace in the docklands, near Canary Wharf. After a week, one of my roommates was told by colleagues that it... Continue Reading →
Earlier this year, I had a chance to visit Berlin. It has been about 3 months and I have not gotten the chance or made time to write about Berlin, and it is now quickly receding from my memory, threatening to leave behind the usual remnants of travel impressions. Berlin was cold in January. A... Continue Reading →
On weekends, I spend hours staring at the ac vent blowing ice-cold air into the small room that I have rented. The only furniture that I have in the house is a bed. I have a red Afghan rug near the bed so that my feet touch something warm when I wake up. On the... Continue Reading →
"Onnum sollaadheenga sir, ellaam nalladhukkudhaan" she said, leaning through my car window, her voice huskier than a woman's, her lilt more pronounced than a man's. As the light turned green, and I pulled out, stuffing my wallet into my pocket blindly with one hand, I was slightly irritated and glad. Irritated because I hadn't foreseen... Continue Reading →
Kamala Das, during her Madhavikutty days, reminds me of the actress Jalaja. I think it is because they both remind me of childhood afternoons spent watching slow Malayalam movies on national television. Maybe, even then, I realized that I could understand a language that was not native to the Tamil land I inhabited and that... Continue Reading →
Mira loves spotting cats. She is great at it. I am fairly observant too, but her eyes seem sharper and her ability to spot feline hiding spots seems highly tuned. She lets out a small yelp or a dramatic "caaatt" in a low voice when she spots one. Cats are evening routines though. Early mornings,... Continue Reading →
I know of Library Walk in New York City because it starts from where I work. If you step out of the imposing Grand Central terminal, cross Pershing square and walk about twenty meters due south you will see, through the streets, the distinctive wide white facade of New York Public Library's Stephen A. Schwarzman... Continue Reading →
By the time, Mira, you have a conversation with me about politics, I would not know how I'd have changed from now. I would also not know how the world would have changed. Maybe it is these fears of the unknown that I want to forestall by writing this down now. I have seen how... Continue Reading →
This year I saw Mira for exactly 3 weeks. The rest of the time I have only watched her from afar, catching snatches of her morning routines or her bedtime sleepy face. I get her to say hi, blow me kisses, make her smile, and in general have a repeating conversation of "what are you... Continue Reading →
I write to see myself write, to hear myself express ideas that do not materialize in real life around me. That I want to write less when I end up having satisfying conversations confirms to me that there is an element of justification, a confessional theme in my reason to write. Maybe that is why... Continue Reading →
Impersonally Personal Stories.
my love affair with Russian literature
Pandora's Box for Art Lovers and Beauty Seekers
Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue is a lesfic author at amzn.to/36DFT2x. Sign-up for her newsletter at higginbothampublications.com
As I navigate through this life ...
Epic Literary Reviews & Insights
The Reluctant Book Worm 
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