Notes from the Field

Author’s note: Around the time when the monsoon was ending and autumn was slowly arriving with clear blue skies, I reached a small village in Parbat for a week-long writing retreat. There, at the homestay, I shared at home with Maili Ama, and a man who was quiet chatty

As we sat down for lunch together, Mamu informed everyone that I had made the bhanta-aaloo tarkari [eggplant-potato dish]. That made me pause mid-movement as I put my plate down. I recalled that I’d only contributed to the part that involved putting in the seasoning and stirring the vegetable

I am back in the waiting area of a hospital. This time it's a different hospital but the feeling is the same - tired of waiting. Waiting for time to turn around, waiting for someone to tell me what is going on with my body and lead me

Sabina washes her waist length hair and is letting it dry in the sun. She pops inside, vanishes for five minutes, comes back outside with her hair combed and clipped at the back. She has a tika between her eyebrows, and a thick red potey around her neck. She’s

Sita is saying something downstairs to Bir. She yells unusually loud and I get up from bed and run down. I ask, "What's going on?" Sita says, "Something has happened to bhai... we must get there right away." I assume it's bad,

As I stepped into Maili didi’s small kitchen, she immediately busied herself making a cup of coffee. She took out the shiniest cup from the shelf to pour the hot drink. And together, we sat next to each other sipping our coffee. It had been a year since I