You have worn my shirt so muslinthat you keep weaving back into lightthe buttons undone, I......

Post India’s independence in 1947, the establishment of the Faculty of Fine Arts in Maharaja Sayajirao......

After the textile mill in Rajkot (where he worked as a mechanic) shut down, my grandfather......

Nandini knew next to nothing about children. Especially ones as small as this. She did not......

Nanima used to love sitting on the swing and read. That is the photograph I wish......

Everyone who knows a woman knows a different side of her. As a daughter, a sister,......

Her words are wrung out in hurried gasps between closing the door and flushing the toilet—pencil......

I had no one and nothing left–no harms, no scars, no old lovers to spinwan-flax tales......

I am subterfuge and clay to you: but sandBeneath penetrates the slits betweenmy fingers, and slats......