Nethra Nallari

A jug full of lemon juice. I grew up being greeted with lemon juice after hot school days. Pondicherry, a coastal town made for unusually warm summers and winter days were lukewarm. I always looked at the jug on the table and wondered how much was left, how many glasses

I begin this by acknowledging that all of us may share a different relationship with yoga or any form of exercise. Our bodies may allow for a certain range of movement, and we are allowed to respect, offer kindness to our bodies, in all their capacities. I am acutely aware

For those of us who watched movies set in schools and colleges, we learnt of groups and the cliches that come with them, early on. A group sometimes has a shared identity. It could be their interest in sports, environment, policy, or any niche that presents itself. I think about

“This does not fit!” I gasp in horror at how clothes that perfectly fit a few months, seem to have shrunk. ‘Shrunk’, I wrap my arms over my body and wonder. I found myself reluctantly trying on a larger one and my face contorted with worry. I wonder how I

Muffled words echo through them. I try to listen, and politely ask them to repeat themselves a little louder. A few years ago, if you had told me I would have to listen to people wearing masks throughout the day, I would have laughed. I recall working with mice at

Hostel rooms, dorms, paying guest accommodations, elicit an odd sense of nostalgia. Having walked into, stayed with, spent months in and been invited to all of these places, I am struck at how each room or flat I walk into is nothing like another. The room with posters, walls with

White sheet of paper, I sit down and look at it. I begin to think about how so much of life is constructed and sometimes, shaped out by my identity. Parts of my identity, I had the privilege to construct, to choose and parts were lent to me. I draw

People in rectangles. A newlywed couple, baby wraps, first days at school, defending a Ph.D. thesis, cooking a meal for the first time, vehicle’s birthday, a cat snuggled up, aging parents in the glow of their anniversary cake, celebrating oneself, a day off, an after-therapy selfie, the view

“I don’t understand why.” I find this line running through my head. As I type this, I wonder if you have had thoughts on similar lines before. You find yourself wondering “Why would they do/believe in that? Why do they choose to be in a certain way?”, I