A poem by Roshni Goyate, 1/4 of the performance group 4 Brown Girls Who Write Here is heartbreak, in the heart of our circle Walls made of triangles, walls made of light (Triangles of light) Here is heartbreak, heavy-hearted heartache Waiting to be healed Sisters, we are healing; we are healing our sister Hold a mirror up,… Read more →
The first pop album I ever owned, Made in India, was one of the best selling of its generation. In my living room in London, I played that cassette tape to death, singing and dancing along, even accidentally twisting an ankle once. As an eight-year-old second-generation immigrant I had the pick of both cultures, idolising Indian pop star Alisha Chinai… Read more →
I recently visited the local shoe repair place, where my receipt came with this little nugget of wisdom: Shoes worth wearing are worth repairing. Amen, shoe repair place. I’d left in their care a very special pair of leather boots. A pair that’s taken me on various trips around the world, dutifully matching every outfit, weather type and music genre… Read more →
The streets of east London can be intimidating. Gritty and grey, even without rain, it’s no surprise Jack the Ripper called it home. In fact, if you’ve been anywhere near the area over the past few years, you might’ve heard the distant rumble of a very disgruntled person. I once dared to follow that rumble, and it took me to… Read more →
Duncan Macmillan’s play Lungs took my breath away. It kicks off with a couple’s tense conversation over the future. Hurtling through anxieties like “Is this the kind of world I want to bring a child into?” and “Are we even meant to be together?” the female character stumbles, stutters, contradicts herself and confuses her boyfriend with her constant questioning of… Read more →
