Farah Ahamed

The oldest surviving statue of a female dancer in South Asia is the ten-centimetre-high bronze figurine ‘Dancing Girl’ from Mohenjo-Daro. Given her teenage age, provocative posture, and jewellery, I wondered: for what kind of dance had she dressed? Could it perhaps have been a menstrual dance?

While growing up in Kenya, I was cautioned by my mother not to touch the curry plant when on my period. She left me with the impression that something in my body would contaminate the plant, prompting a feeling of deep self-revulsion.

What happens to a mother tongue when its original vehicle passes away? Might language, in this case, be the ideal conduit for grief and acceptance?

The parched earth waits / Watching flashes of lightning / Gestures of love cross the dark sky / The monsoon is near

Afghani poet Parwana Fayyaz’s poem Three Dolls is shaped by her lived experiences of war, exile and state oppression. It struck a deep chord with me because, like Fayyaz, I also have sisters.

‘The Vagina Monologues is going to educate the public. Why does the government have a problem?’ The female director being interviewed on the radio is infuriated. ‘It is just a play.’