Is a women’s hostel a utopia or dystopia, or is it even better—a place to ignore the boring universe of men? Poorva Rajaram reluctantly joined a hostel, only to fall in love with the wheels within wheels, the worlds within worlds she found—a sakhi sammelan, Renaissance Florence, a sandcastle, and a place to play academic Thelma and Louise.
For Manju and me, the short period of time when she has to grind something in the mixer–grinder is difficult. The noise interrupts the thread of our conversation, making us go quiet after that. I don’t like recipes that involve a lot of grinding. I often do the grinding myself before Manju comes to cook meals. But then, chhaunk too intrudes upon our conversations. The moment we see oil heating up, we know it’s the end of our conversation.
Chiragh Dilli 