The toxicity of a family might vary from being very trivial to extremely unbearable. But the worst part is some of us don’t even realise that it’s not normal.
This poem is a vocalization of the internal and external voices that played into the poet's body as she interacted with her newborn grandchild.
A poem about home – in memory, feeling and imagination, and for discovering our own story and discerning our place in time.
'Though youth is a dim memory, our glories are not.'
When did I grow so much? How did this happen so suddenly? Is sudden the correct word for it?
The poem takes us through the various stages of a mother and her child’s life.
An ode to my uncle and his kirana shop in Saurashtra, where I spent much time as a child.
Since the pandemic began, it is as if we are in this personality-less limbo where we have nothing concrete to say about who we are.
'Everyone is coming – not to save me, but to give their evaluations.'