If we are to regain a democratic future, we need to do everything in our power to stem that rot in the hearts of our children.
'Who is the victim? Who the perpetrator of the crime? Answers to these questions are turned on their head.'
If you look back at your school life, college life, street life, and community life, perhaps you’d find a story similar to mine from a time when nationalism flowed …
How does one reclaim a friend or a loved one from bigotry? Is it a curable disease? Are there secret potions that can help?
This poem is about what it means to be a mother of a Muslim child in today's India.
A poem on the turn India is taking, and the fear of dark times ahead in the hearts of minority communities.
People who used to be thinkers are now parroting venomous rhetoric. They are indistinguishable. Their disembodied voices lead me to believe that ghosts exist in modern India.
'Striving for every bit of their attention, why are you still proving your worth?'