Rukhaya Mohammad Kunhi

The one and only incredible Rukhaya M.K! This makes me so proud and happy! Way to go Razorpen!


13221686_1042072909173085_8527929565870832934_n (1)Hello Rukhaya, thank you for being a part of IWI’s Incredible Women Writers of India 2016, and sharing your journey as a writer. 

How would you define yourself?

A writer friend once described me as “As an open book, with pages falling out.” I would go with that.

People, normally with the first impression, think I am arrogant, while some term my smile Beckettian or Joycean. I am bit of an introvert who takes time to open up.

What was your childhood like? Any incidents form your growing up years that shaped you as a person?

I spent nine years of my childhood in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, I feel my stint at the International Indian School of Jeddah gave me a good base in the English language that has carried me this far. I used to read a lot during my childhood.  My family and teachers had formative influences on…

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Blue suede clues: Malabar Whistling Thrush

Bird stalker scribbler me now tuning into better poetic avian frequencies thanks to Christy Bharath and his poem-writing birds at the Verseherder-the perfect place to cure my blues!


I don’t think we write poetry. We merely discover it. Poetry is everywhere; nude, unpredictable and evocative. We run around in circles, with hand mirrors pressed against our chests. We don’t create it from scratch. Breathe life into words. Or dig deeper within ourselves, past the festering muck of human drama, to find serenity in language.

Poetry sniffs us out. Then it hunts us down. It’s always either a pleasant surprise or a rude awakening. It occupies our throats. Rattles our bones. Blurs our vision. Fills our heads with delusions of inadequacy. And our hearts – with finger-plucked music and wet autumn leaves.

It can be beautiful yet empty. Melancholic but hopeful. It can be as confusing as it is comforting; as caustic as it is fragile. Strangely, it always makes us feel better about ourselves.

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