Someone is always at my elbow reminding me that I am the granddaughter of slaves.
Nostalgia, longing and pain wrap tightly as the poet ruminates on the steady loss of his childhood home.
Guru Maa's approach to music was akin to a master weaver's art, where each raga was a delicate thread.
In a world where wars are a commonality in modern discourses, why should a harmless kiss even unnerve anyone?
