The Blahcksheep
Outside the Masjid, I see a pool of footwear. And I recall the feet of men and women in them. The grey boots are of Hasan – the barber who told me that both mandir and masjid have six letters, and Hindi and Urdu do not. But if Hindus wear a hijab, wouldn’t you mistake …
Your fate is written on your spine,even more than it iscontrived on your palms.Because everytime,you lift what isn’t destined for you,more than your hands your spine will ache.My country is outlined with kohl,and every netizen on it’s physicalmap frame is a teardrop.Everytime we attempt crossingit’s border, we roll down on it’s palevioletred cheeks,swimming through the …
A nine-year-old saree grows up not to be wrinkled and crestfallen akin to humans, it passes on from almirahs to closets, and turns into a semi stitched lehenga, with a deep neckline blouse, ruffled sleeves, darted patchwork with modernity strewed over its obsolete silk. Fabric doesn’t age, humans wrapped in it do like magenta toffees. …