In the last few days, like so many others across India, I too have watched northeast Delhi descend into mad violence. A week before all this happened, I was right there, having the cockles of my heart warmed by the ladies of Sunder Nagri. The week prior, I was roused by the fiery protest poetry of the burkha-clad Sugra Khatun, the bard of Jaffrabad. Today, as I compulsively watch footage of the horrors that have unfolded there, I dread spotting familiar faces, familiar places. I still don’t know if the inspirational women, I’ve met who’ve been fighting to keep our
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