In search of মৰম beyond familial spaces
Or
One may think this as a lack of মৰম, producing a no-man's-land in the middle of urban cities.
The lack of মৰম for certain bodies, places
Considered a vice.
The need to extend মৰম to the unknown, beyond relations to places and people,
to the unknown, transcending the borders created within the mind, within the societal norm.
We belong to nowhere,মৰম belongs to all.

Gendered nature of care within the domestic space.

“If someone in our family is wronged and we don’t stand up for them now, who will stand with us tomorrow?” said Bindra. “This (langar) is just an excuse to show that we stand with you.”

'anti-national' food story

kebabs, the new biryani

acts of মৰম across families, neighbourhoods, communities and religions. মৰম as protecting future generations. মৰম as cooking together. মৰম as crossing state borders to cook for you, to cook for me. মৰম as closing your decades-long shops. মৰম as new shops coming up. মৰম as a cup of tea from one of those shops on a cold winter night, huddled together, chanting and singing and listening. মৰম as listening.

I owe it to myself as much I thought this for others. I shall try not distancing with one who doesn't feel the same as I. I shall accept all, that it is me who also sees disparity and checks on the disparity.

In need of continual care.

The Everyday Challenges

Co- Dependency

—Skylark Girl by Aruni Kashyap

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.
The leaves of autumn have grown ashen:
I’m haunted by a tender passion.
And spring-time too, in its own fashion,
Burns me with love’s sweet song-so I-
I’m haunted by a tender passion,
The ghost of which will never die.

-Vikram Seth

Gendered nature of care with-out the domestic space.

We would like to whole-heartedly thank our classmate and friend, Surabhi, for being a part of this issue, by allowing us to use one of her works as the background that ties this page together.