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“What are you—an ocean of love?” I ask my first kiss, fully unconvinced. To call him a teaspoon would be rich. I am diseased to please; I offer myself as lamb to slaughter, particularly to those who walk all over me. It’s not a kink. If you unpeel my Freudian onion, you’ll find the adversity. But I don’t have the breath or body for that tutorial today. He smiled and responded with some love-lorn Instagram poetry. Ganja may be a confounding factor. I don’t think he could tell

A feminist political economy of care and exhaustion Well-being is often spoken about as a skill to be learned. Something individual. Something manageable. But conversations with grassroots women workers and human rights defenders tell a different story. Here, well-being is not absent because people do not know how to care for themselves. It is absent because care is systematically extracted while its costs are quietly absorbed. A feminist political economy of care helps make

I arrived carrying tidy words: collectives, participation, capacity building. On paper, everything was in place—Producer Groups formed years ago, meetings scheduled, trainings delivered, cadres appointed. But the field does not speak in frameworks. It speaks in pauses. In people not showing up. In questions that no longer sound rhetorical. “Tell us—was this profit or loss?” That question followed me from village to village. As dusk fell in rural Jharkhand, a field trainer acc

My journey through the IVF care landscape in Uttar Pradesh—spanning Gorakhpur, Sultanpur, and Lucknow—revealed deeply troubling realities...

Back in 2017, when I was 19, life felt chaotic. I was in college, navigating a turbulent period while also undergoing a personal...