Shripad Sinnakaarwhere do birds go when their tree is axed?We moved soil for the sparrow that dashed in the running fan. It’s feathers beautiful brown, tempting enough to pluck and gift it as ear…Aug 27, 20201Aug 27, 20201
Shripad SinnakaarMana MandiThere is no single way of naming us, so I see us in language I was fostered to know everyone and through them, myself: Mana Mandi means our…Aug 27, 2020Aug 27, 2020
Shripad SinnakaarKākiIf not the crows flying in the sky, their call signs cloud you so piercingly loud, you look at the lines on your hands, and think they’re…Aug 27, 2020Aug 27, 2020
Shripad SinnakaarOn Mourning in pandemicBodies turned into threat overnight. Not that untouchability is any unfamiliar a practice in this country, its cities— & in the building of…Aug 27, 2020Aug 27, 2020
Shripad SinnakaarGadapaగడప— I dedicate this poem to Thimareddypalle Hanumavva, Sanjeev Gumpenapalli, and mana mandi of Dharavi. I often demand to be told about…Aug 27, 20201Aug 27, 20201