The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.

Thin sheaths of ashborn of forest firefallaround merest in my hairstick to  sweaty skinRubbing eyesclouds my visionRubbing armsturns my skin greyLayer upon layerash fallsI stand pierced by..

In another life, I was paintedOut of the picture, By the Table, Scummed up with oil layered likePremature common lilac leaves Peering down. I am sat next..

The letter comes from a far countryon an early April evening, when the moon is fulland stars run quietly. The good earth, bored with the fecund promise..

A man in Derbyshire,grows trees into chairs.Oak & willow are tiedto forms, pruned to complyto templates that determinetheir utility & usagelike children bound bytheir parent’s..

Sometimes late at nightwhen they’re done their roundsand I’m sure no one is listening,I speak to Sylvia Plath: You’ve died before I had time—we’re much..

Today a man, a woman, and a child much younger than me asked me who I wanted to be I responded with – Is that..

The shadow is the ice melting down ravines of drowned hipbones, beadings strung in the sunlight.  It rubs its head between two stones, peeling back..

The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.

“Drinking mercury to the mystery of all that you should ever leave behind…. in time.”  “Ava Adore,” Billy Corgan My purple skin projects royal essences..

And as the sets reverse, to bring age to each step, Every sordid moment worse, lost is the night to its solemn shroud And as I were, softly..

“Can I go home yet?” Such a small voice for a big statue On a grey stool in the cornera British Museum guard yawnsand turns away..

“Do not touch this. You will only have troubles and problems.”– Archeologist, Iris Love, to Getty Museum officials on the prospective purchase of the Statue..

~After Naipaul’s “Tell Me Who to Kill”~a thank you, to those who made the journey, before  They built the train tracksfor memory, brakes to stop..

I feel my mouth go dry in terror whenever I hear a cricket.  (Denise Duhamel) I have lived in the front yard all my life.Like..

The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.

I push my weightagainst the sturdy swing-doorof Nani’s house.My eyes catch white and grey: Nana’s pebble gardenwhere we would discoverfat pieces of rock. Khadiya. We would..

in my dream, my brain talks about brainsbeing more or less the same, resembling kidney beans, sprouting web-like dendrites, wired for synaptic connection,passing signals cell to cell through axons,rosette-tipped, purring like..

The blooms have each waited inside a small, tight bud all winter long. Each a sex-nub, a tender, excitable mound of tree-flesh rousing to sunlight’s..

It would be so easyTo be lost hereIn your armsIn the windBy the river. I don’t hear the hawk,Though you do. All I hear is the Almost-roarOf..