Reflections

‘She spoke to hardly anyone except her vast collection of antique dolls, and constructed a bizarre hierarchy between porcelain, rag and plastic dolls that mirrors the real-life absurdities of race.’

‘I wrote to transform a profound grief. I clung to the natural environment, to the sea, the horizon, trees. They seemed permanent, something that couldn’t be lost or taken from me.’

it’s the dreams you can remember that are often premonitions

my father said in passing - you know, it was a blessing, our loss

India's consciousness translated

The hybridity of Indian and British perspectives

Illusory palinopsia

Leicester Square via Jakarta and Plymouth

From knowing to understanding

Razor sharp dialogue

Being Mauritian

Writing a sneeze