We can never truly understand the world around us unless we shed all our identities.
This poem describes the experience of knowing a loved one wants to help you – and their helplessness at being unable to.
For me, honouring Shujaat Bhukari and other slain journalists means finding a hopeful purpose in the mess around us.
Mobility is at the centre of feminism – and women are here to reclaim the right to roam the streets.
The northeast has always had its issues, but we always believed that we were safe amongst our own folks. Not anymore.
A poem that highlights our alienation from the constant tension in Kashmir.