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

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


“Aapke paas paanch-das minute ka time hai kya? Mujhe Sassoon Dock ke baare mein jaankaari

I recently witnessed the birth of my niece. Her first look made me believe that

My sister’s favourite Lepcha song is not any of the current, modern songs ruling the

There is a story—part musicology, part myth—that Johann Sebastian Bach wrote the Chaconne, the monumental

Pramila Shetty, a.k.a. Pamu, my mother, started cooking at an early age as a daily

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

“All Activists on the Freedom Flotilla have been Abducted by Israel” There is a crow

I never learned to grieve for my father. That language was perpetually distant to me.

छोरी चली परदेस, मायका सुना हो गया, आंगन की कोयल भी चुप, गीत अधूरा हो

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

“Walls are publishers of the poor!” – this famous line by Eduardo Galeano, an Uruguayan

Lovers of book clubs will know that the act of reading together makes for a

Inviting stories in creative nonfiction that explore the subject of translation, in and beyond language.

Let’s travel to the India of the 1950s, a country redefining itself in the wake

The protest against the Bodh Gaya Temple Act of 1949 continues at the Domuhan grounds,

The protagonist Saleem Sinai’s fate in Salman Rushdie’s Booker Prize-winning novel Midnight’s Children (Jonathan Cape,

I write a letter, not to a person, place, thing. But a letter to a

I do not remember the first time I said ‘teslam eedek’ to my mother. It

My mother and her sisters were born at a table where harm was never too

Some people graduate once in a generation. My oldest memories are of seeing a room

Jyoti used to live in Gagodhar, a small village in the Ujjain district of Madhya

The picture of a standing mother in a kitchen is ubiquitous. From dawn till beyond

I After a night’s sleep intermittently interrupted by sharp, penetrative period cramps, announcing the arrival

Hey, It has taken me months to pen this down—a letter I suppose I’m writing

The machinery of our global capitalist economy is designed to exploit caregiving and domestic labor,

Seeing my mother hate the kitchen and my aunt love it, I was very confused.

Gantala Press, a Filipino women’s press that I founded while employed in a private library,

For an audio-visual project on outward migration from Bihar, I was speaking to professor Brahma

For the longest of times, women are portrayed… No. Not even portrayed. Simply, “Women belong

The marketplace is not merely a place of trade; it is a realm of labor,
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