Here's a story of fading Art.
Women weave it with their own hands.
Stronger is thread & the bond.
A heritage comes alive,
A culture starts to breathe.
Making it isn't a child's play,
This takes many days.

Art is immortal, Art is priceless.
Skillful people never say,
That they're been hardly paid.
Time has time n so has the outfits,
We prefer any trend that hits.
Not giving a thought of vanishing Art,
Totally breaks my heart.

With all this blend Bandhani is made,
Hindu makes & Muslim wears...
Diversity stays.
This rich Art might fade away,
I request each of you...
Do not let it happen this way.

i’ll say it again. this is the only
time i write with music. listen now and i’ll spin
the wheel again, an ocean is no excuse for a tipped balance. trace
origins back to சாதம், வீடு, பறவை. tip-toe to reach the top half of the
stove, where the stories and the music are, but hand on head, not quite there yet. in the meantime, i hope my hands become as fire-glazed as yours one day. listen now and i’ll tell you how to live a life in compromises. here, come help me with my சாறி, no, i don’t have flowers for your hair, because there are are two different languages
in this house. inhale savory vowels and lives rolled into the sun, exhale தயிர் without salt, a theoretical childhood, heart with
half  the guilt. listen now for something i told my அம்மா:
travel eight thousand miles by foot and open one eye,
make a phone call and taste dew- glittering நெய்
தோசை. listen now for a final time. when
there are not enough unfurled petals of
this world, look up and find the
பௌர்ணமி in a hidden
corner of your heart.
blink once to skip time
zones, twice to remember the
promise of a thousand locusts and monsoon rain.