The Weight of Salt
I keep a small, smooth stone in my pocket, pulled from a shoreline I visited years ago. It is worn down by the constant, rhythmic rubbing of the tide, a process of erasure that feels more like a refinement. We spend our lives accumulating things—heavy,…
The Weight of Silence
Can we ever truly stand alone, or are we merely echoes of the spaces we inhabit? We spend our lives building walls—both physical and internal—to define where we end and the world begins. Yet, there are moments when the boundary thins, when…
The Weight of the Ascent
I remember sitting in a small tea shop in Colaba, watching a group of young men stretch their hamstrings against a rusted iron fence. They were laughing, drinking chai from small glass cups, but there was a quiet, nervous intensity to their…