Mother tongue

My mother’s tongue is harsh. Hers is a language of efficiency, deftly cutting between ribs to strike to the tender core. In my mother’s tongue, what has happened to my body, what my body has done, is called Fehlgeburt. FailRead more…

Sir

‘Hello ma’am,’ the charity woman called out to me, but then her face clouded. ‘I mean sir.’ Another flustered pause before she reversed again: ‘I mean ma’am.’ Years of practice enabled me to politely decline making a donation without laughing.Read more…

Baba’s coffee grounds

We walked to Preston Market together. Grandmother’s fingertips were scarlet from dying Easter eggs but it just added to her mystique. I spent my school holidays with her while my parents worked. Most other kids got to go and loiterRead more…