That’s Not How This Works

SF and I are buddy-reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and all I want to say is — what on God’s good green earth is happening in this book? I picked it up because I was so enthralled by his writing in Of Love and Other Demons, and SF picked it... Continue Reading →

A Sadness Runs Through Her

April was tough. Tough and magical. Tough, magical, and surreal.  My heart has been stretched, full, and wrung at varying times during the warm, Gulmohar-laden month of April. I’ve written 30 poems for NaPoWriMo, kept as many rozas as women can keep (23, because: periods), cooked whatever dish was fancied that day for Iftar, and... Continue Reading →

Aise Kyun?

“It has become routine to assume that the rewards of life are public and that our lives can be measured by how we are seen rather than what we do.” — How to Disappear, Akiko Busch  The intense activities of the last few weeks have left me feeling emotionally spent. As we come closer to... Continue Reading →

Sunset Murals (Three Poems)

Our sunscreen is melting The house we stand in front of is made of broken white,collected silence, unloved days, and empty water ductsthat have been dry for so long we find bird nests strewn in them. We are afraid to sweep away the beds of brown leaves,nests et al, because we know we won’t be... Continue Reading →

Slow Talking With the Void

I have stopped looking for women in the annals of time who might have been like me. A strange shadow has been cast over me that shies away from the magic of the revolving universe. Uncounted heaps of bangles have been tidied away, tied with a thread, and stored inside tin boxes never to be... Continue Reading →

The Constitution of a Wound

Two days ago, I was walking to the parking lot after having an intense conversation with an old friend about something that was weighing on her and I started laughing to myself. It has been a week of intense conversations with friends about trauma, ageing, anxiety, quality of life and work, loss of money, loves... Continue Reading →

Raging Optimist Here

Wearing a mascara is all fun and games until you have to remove it. Leaving the black caked liquid on my eyelashes is not an option but every time I need to do a cleansing routine, it is as if the day’s worries have descended upon them. In the many weeks that have passed since... Continue Reading →


I wonder if our grief needs space to be fully experienced; on a long distance bus, in a large park, on the terrace, in a maidan. In small spaces maybe it gets constricted by other people, furniture, ideas, and all the hullabaloo of everyday chores. In small or occupied spaces, does grief find itself waiting... Continue Reading →

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