This month began with news of the death of one of my close relatives. A few minutes before midnight, he was found at his computer, hand still on the mouse, the light and life gone from his eyes.
Don’t objectify me. Don’t deify me. I am not a sex object. I am not a worship object. I am no goddess. I am a person. I am a voice.
My years working in Chinchpokli were checkered with the ruins of the past as well as the promise of flamingos. It shaped me in so many ways.
India’s #TimesUp / #MeToo movement is up and kicking. It brought…Pain. Disbelief. Grief. Guilt. Rage. And also…Joy.
In embracing the idea that every experience has lessons for me, I have to admit, they all come with prior signs as well.
Most of us are entrapped in boundaries set by other people that have become prisons. Boundaries are only good when you set them yourself.
“I don’t think he ever actually liked me,” I told a friend last week. Incredulous, he asked me, then why was he with you?
AgentsOfIshq ran a story of mine on dark skin pride and my love of colour.
I switched dating apps. No, this time it wasn’t because awful people drove me away. It’s because Tinder kept demanding my phone number and wouldn’t let me login without it. I’ve never indulged corporations that think they can hold me to ransom, especially when I have a choice. So my…
Birthday month came and passed. The birthday was sweet. August is here and I am soon to be officially middle-aged.