Shikha Sawhney Lamba has assembled dozens of poems and artworks by 25 Afghan women and girls into a volume that shouts with defiance, mourns deeply, and burns with the necessity to endure.
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I had planned a trip to Seebad Heringsdorf. It’s a coastal town right next to the Polish border. It was my partner’s birthday. And this was our first time in Europe.
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Bahu village is a sleepy hamlet where the snow-crested Tirthan peaks whisper ancient secrets to the vast vistas of wilderness wrapping them.
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I name my characters after people such as the guy who rang up the cumin at the cash register who is himself really into Babylonian esotericism but not so much that he changed his name to Zoltan ben’Marduk or anything.
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Balan, the boy, never really comes of age. But his innocence does. It becomes older than he ever will, carrying the burden of knowing what no child should have to know. That, perhaps, is the deepest sorrow that the film leaves us with.
