I knew I was in trouble as soon as I finished reading Eka Kurniawan's "Beauty is a Wound". Even though I think I did not fully like the book, when asked about it, I could not bring myself to say so. It did not take long for me to realize that I was gently being... Continue Reading →
One of my pastimes, when I am engaged in otherwise mundane chores, is to think of the ontological explanations to my existence. On quiet afternoons I end up reflecting on how I have ended up as who I am. Wishfully, over many such reflections, I try to understand myself better. It is a quaint and non-aggressive... Continue Reading →
Help me out here, will you? Why write? I mean, why write? What I write I want to read. What I want to read I want to experience in some form and what I don't experience leaves me screaming for it self-pityingly. Admonitions of "but you can't have it all" or "fucking nonsense, grow up" make me... Continue Reading →
Come, let us talk about Ambedkar. Please make yourself comfortable. Fold yourself into a comfortable sitting position. A cup of water or coffee or tea maybe? You know, this week I read an annotated version of "The Annihilation of Caste"(AoC). This I think was the third or fourth time I revisited this work. The first... Continue Reading →
I do not know at what point reading became an obsession with me. I do know, however, exactly when reading stopped being an obsession with me. Yesterday, at around 11 am EST. It was no startling awakening. Nor was the resultant revelation a portal to Nirvana.I suspect I knew all along that reading was a... Continue Reading →
Even my spontaneity is planned. That is why I read Bukowski. Google Maps ensures that I don't even get lost, sealing my last bastion of unpredictability.That is why I read Bukowski. Somewhere underneath all that filth and grit, I want to believe Bukowski's sadness exists untouched. Somewhere beyond all the boozing and whoring, I convince myself there... Continue Reading →
I really liked Roxane Gay's collection of essays on feminism. It was intelligent and engaging. I warn you that this is not academic material. So if you are well along the path of feminism, have (suff)raged, burnt your bra and smashed patriarchy with those unshaven armpits, Bad Feminist might not withstand your rigor. Rage on, we need more... Continue Reading →
Hygge, the Danish concept of happiness and gratitude, stems from belonging. Belonging geographically and emotionally to home and family. I threw the book I was reading on Hygge away in disgust. Both were ideas that were alien to me for a long time. Halfway through my adult life, I was once asked if I was an... Continue Reading →
When I first came to New York, and if I am not careful even now, I had a tendency to walk looking upward. At stoplights my eyes are drawn to the topmost floors of the tall buildings lining Manhattan where angry NYPD helicopters flit to and fro, like huge metal dragonflies startled from their rooftop sunning sessions. I follow their... Continue Reading →
Many of us experience life like a canine experiencing a car ride. When someone decides the time is right, we are allowed a journey. A cracked window of opportunity is a tunnel of whooshing air to flap moist tongues. And when the time comes we trot off. Any attempts to jump out, bite or break free... 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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