My mother holds my childhood very dearly in a couple of photobooks . She keeps them safe and doesn’t let me take any photo away from her even for a day. She used to be our family photographer until I grew old. I learned from her how to romanticize the past every now and then. Continue reading “The Unphotographer”
keep the door open
for too long?
In her head
distance is a thousand
light years, Continue reading “Did she”
Every time I visit my in-laws, they show me many old photographs from their photo albums. Photographs of their trips, old dogs, celebrations and special moments that they hold so dearly. Each photo album looks like a book of short story collections, narrating to me my husband’s childhood that I haven’t seen. Each of those photographs stands out in my memory. The way he dressed. The way he was celebrated on his 10th birthday. Continue reading “Quest for An Inner Selfie”