Does a river know when she carries a letter and when a body?

Perhaps a kitchen remains the only place in a house bearing limitless possibilities. It is where love demands precedence, patience stays stocked, and intimacy slithers in spoken-unspoken ‘they like it so’. It is also only guided by those who can hold tenderness. Or can own hope in chaos. Some time…

ft. Mum It’s been long since Maa felt beautiful. For days without end, she wouldn’t look in the mirror. For all the obvious reasons, she has changed — swiftly & gradually. Years back, she stopped looking like who she knew she was, & nobody around had the time or empathy…

Sometimes, only by witnessing a crime do you realise how criminal the act is. One particularly chilly winter evening, while slithering through the busy lanes of the city at its busiest hour, my eyes settled on a few splotches of men peppered all over this end of the street. The…

It’s been about three years. In the sweltering North Indian summer and half a city away, I interned at a modest organisation swung into activity by less than fifteen folks every day. My days, then, were almost always pre-stuffed with overtime work. I wished to do a lot, and well…

It all ends with being in your arms. All rest; I rest. Breathe.

CW// I’m so done with cishet men occupying spaces they do not belong to, debating what they barely understand, creating structures that are inadequate, and yet getting away with the consequences of their unkind, ill-thought, mediocre actions. While, on the other, we question whether we even fit into a movement against hurt, trauma & pain. We keep hoping we’re not diluting the significance of the causes we support with our participation. We educate ourselves to term the violence & the abusers correctly.

You cannot tend to what you do not understand.

You make me want to talk about myself. That has been our love.