Nethra Nallari

Blank space, I am trying to find the right words. The ‘right words’, I wonder. I listen to someone describe a rough day. I pause, I want to let them know they’ll get through this and it will be okay. How do I do this? I think about how

The voices are loud. Whose voices? My own. I go over my mistakes, I try to hold my stance. I can hear a friend defending their position. We're at an impasse, disagreement of sorts. And so it continues, sentences volleyed back and forth. Some sentences are accusatory, some

D’s daughter, H came home unusually quiet. H was out cycling with her friends, D noticed H fidgeting with her toys. D began to play with H, and H happily chose to engage. D chose to talk to H over dinner, a time where H is receptive to conversation.

Blue shimmery rectangles of water. Pools frightened B, sprinklers did too. 7-year old B, wears a pink polka-dotted swimsuit and walked to the steps of the swimming pool. B tries to ignore her mother in the stands. A kind woman approaches B from the water and holds her hands out.

“I love the detailing on this, the colors blend so well. Wonderful illustration, D!” A graphic designer, she is listening to her mentor’s feedback on an illustration for a publication. D repeats the words to herself: “wonderful illustration, wonderful illustration, wonderful..” D stops mid-thought: “Was it really? The edges

“Groups of 4, please. I hope all of you have a wonderful time building this together!” I remember looking at the three strangers beside me. My earliest memory of working with a team was in elementary school, an exercise to create environment-friendly posters for Environment Day. As a young adult,

My grandmother is amused that I would like to share an anecdote about her online, she laughed and agreed. I watch my grandmother solve the Sudoku, a habit she has resolved to commit to religiously over the years. She has watched the news for longer hours over the week. It

I write this as I think about a chair. A chair, you ask. The chair, I reply definitively. Perhaps this chair was a corner of your bed, a designated space in your room. Spaces where you allow things to pile up, the stack of old clothes, a missing sock, books.

I finish an assignment and wince at the screen of my laptop. Review content, formatting, word limit, references. I run through a mental checklist. 'Turn In', my work will now be graded by a Professor. "Will she approve of this?", comes to me with ease, I