“Love was dashed in Mother’s demands to eat, sometimes scolding.

Other times, threatening with a rolling pin or spice jar.

It could’ve easily been mistaken for anger.

But I was learning her language.”

Sometimes love is silent, sometimes it screams. Sometimes it emerges even despite pain, crude but pure. 

– From my memoir, Where the Tiger Dwells, on the ways love speaks despite obstacles of class, caste & racism.