Essays & Writings

Featured

  • Dining at the Table – a Family Hangout
    All, Latest post, Space
    The fragrance of the jasmines in my mother’s gajra wisps between the lingering aroma of the tadka. The dosa crunches quietly under my fingertips, crisp and piping hot, contrasting with the textured fluidity of the chutney. My grandparents are at the dining table; the birds chirp outside in the garden as we all relish a lazy Sunday morning breakfast in my childhood home. The earliest memories are the sharpest; I still remember everything as if it were yesterday....
  • Portrait of a Garden
    All, Latest post, Space
    Transitioning from spring to autumn in fifteen hours flat, neatly avoiding the heat, what’s not to love? Isn’t this what the birds and the rich do – fly off to cooler pastures during summer? So why does she have butterflies?...
  • Art of Daily Governance – Navigating the tricky spaces of Home, Work, and Community
    All, Home Post, People
    Her knife cuts through the soft flesh of the shiny purple brinjal (eggplant/aubergine). Rotten to the core! She must negotiate this one first – the case of missing aubergine in the sambhar. The vegetables in the backyard garden are still too raw to be plucked out for today’s cooking. She would need to improvise and come up with an alternative, fast. ...
  • A Blank Sheet and Great Expectations – Designing Daily Creative Attempts
    All, Home Post, Time
    Some days are better. I sit down to write, and a story pours out of me impatiently like bubbles jumping from a pot of boiling water. In such instances, it is not me writing it; the story writes itself. I just type. Today is not that day. As I sit in front of my laptop, I can notice the unclean screen. There’s dirt and grey-black spots. Saliva drops that have gathered dust and settled in, making a spacious home of my 14-inch screen. My nails need to be clipped. The edges have started scraping. Am I thirsty? ...
  • Why Women Sew
    Home Second Row, People
    She is sitting on an armchair or a sofa with a ream of flowing cloth, her embroidery kit beside her. The kit is neatly contained within what once was a biscuit tin, as obviously disclosed by images of buttery biscuits and cookies on the lid. The tin box is large enough to hold the embroidery ring, a collection of colorful thread, a thimble, needles of various sizes, scissors, tracing, carbon papers, and the design ideas ripped from housekeeping magazines and books....