For my fierce grandma (May 1927-Jan 2025). I feel lost. I am still at the periphery of her looming presence in my life, not sure what the void holds, and afraid to enter. The grief will come, surely, slowly and engulf me in waves soon. But it is time to let her go, let her fly.

An origin story poem from my lens - encapsulating Kolkata, Gujarat, Bahrain and every other place in between.

Ireland - the Emerald Isle left me in a state of wonder. The verdant sheep-dotted valleys, the castles. But the Cliffs of Moher took my imagination to another level.