2020, sound performance (with Isha Ram Das).
Clay lotas, soil, ash, salt, water, stainless steel bucket, ship list, mixer.
The wave hits
as the hand a mridangam
That timbres and vibrates
with each slap
The vessel of bodies
is not a womb
Yet carries cargo
of coolies conceived
By an empire
built from bonded blood
Like the ghatam,
fired with ash
They hiss and crack,
broken fragments
Fly and flicker,
orange red black
Sugar burnt sweet,
in harvest
But our grandmother tells
our mother of lies Sold
as promises, truths hidden
in shame
An earth soured,
smoke in our veins
We carry and hold
these vessels,
black waters, ash.