Like anything I love, I mistrust the color green down to the fingernail-edges of all the feelings it engenders in me.
Essay
Is it possible to decolonize and police a thing as subconscious and primal as desire?
Is donning cowboy boots a symbol of independence for women, or an attempt to fit in with a culture that does not seem to recognize—or respect—our autonomy?
Why am I loath to confess to the role these bands played in allowing me a measure of catharsis when I was a teenager facing down extraordinary grief?
Over the past few decades, loneliness has reached almost epidemic levels, with men uniquely suffering its effects. How and why has isolation become such a threat?
To be haunted by nostalgia is probably to be writing. Seventy years after Partition, India becomes, in our sentimental imaginations, both sweepingly general and intensely personal.
What happens when we return to the places we once thought were suspicious of us, to the places we kept secrets from?
When I learned that the jewelry my family had given me over the years was a morbid kind of safety net, I came to dread my future every time I put on a piece of gold.
Mass intimacy requires a dilution of one’s complexities. In order to become a celebrity, a person necessarily becomes a personage.
For two years after one of my closest friends killed herself, I thought my grief and guilt were meant only to be handled privately. Tree of Smoke reeled me back into the world.
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