History is twisted, bitter, torturous. But the future is blank. Paint love on it.
They say choosing to quit is an act of cowardice… For some, it is an act of courage… and acceptance.
Womanhood dances on one foot while crushing patriarchy with the other… But the shame refuses to go away.
Sometimes, the lines of age and gender hide who we are inside. Boxes suffocate our inner muse. And a child weeps in the silence of our lonesome everyday. Can a short rendezvous with childhood change how we exist in our minds? This series of portraits seeks to answer at least a part of that…
How many pints of my blood for the dignity of one safe night?
The resistance is not always blazing guns and shouted slogans. Sometimes, the sight of a woman’s unchained breasts is enough to bring patriarchy to its knees.
We worship our daughters in India. We rape the daughters of others.
In different colors of the light, reflections change their hues. And reality once again gets repainted for the night.
Symbolism in life and death is an expression of the simplicity of blood– nothing more than a slave of our invisible life force.
Too tired to live, too scared to die…
We live a million lives in every byte of our social accounts. And with each new post, the older ones die, taking with themselves moments from our real, non-virtual minutes, which are finite, unlike the cloud.