Author: Kuhu Joshi

Saraswati on a Sunday morning All this living alone. This mug With my initials on it, scrubbed And put to dry On the kitchen slab. It waits for me. Looks happiest when filled up. I’m a bit sick of Maria – my Areca palm There by the bookshelf. She Dances. When it gets like this I Don’t know what to do with myself. Fridge then…