Who tells your story decides how your story is told. A tale mutates each time

The lights in the auditorium go off. The stage is set. We enter, hands and

The gestural marks of abstraction helped me to articulate the waves of feeling that exceeded

While sitting amidst the Trans-Himalayas in Ladakh, I came across this call for writings about 

Dear L, Well before  you were born, a part of me feared for you even

‘Sick Woman Theory’ borrows from the essay by Johanna Hedva of the same title. Hedva

On cold winter nights in Delhi, a Russian Idiot, an English Idiot, a Tamil Idiot

content note for sexual violence . My grandmother sits on the verandah, her legs spread

I had imagined a tiny miracle: my mother, sitting cross-legged on the charpai, the fan

Whether for the love of the story, or because of a colonial hangover we have

Thread by thread, the intricate art of embroidery in Baloch society unfolds a profound language

Sometimes, I wonder if my grandmother still speaks to me. In 2022, the woman I

The language used to talk about menstruation is rarely neutral. Across cultures, fiction, law, and