When we tell our stories, the gods hear our sorrows.

Women can go mad with insomnia.The sleep-deprived roam houses that have lost their familiarity. With tea mugs in hand, we wander rooms, looking on shelves for something we will recognize: a book title, a photograph,...

I listen to the sound of India’s voices for the last time . Laughter ripples like water . A prayer is a single note held long . There is so much life here . And...

Dear Maya,Life is an illusion.And as it turns out, so is death.What is real?What remains when we all fade away?Two things: Love. Forgiveness.Don’t forget

I stand up. Stretch my arms out wide to theempty horizon. Do not be afraid of limitlesspossibilities. The desert is infinite to the eyeas love is to the heart.