Writing poetry, for me, has always been a blood pact. It arrived at my doorstep at a very interesting, mercurial time in my life. It befriended me and saved me from myself. Teething is the documentation of all that. Every memory, every vulnerability of the heart, every painful and beautiful thing ever experienced, a book that’s a diary. The book was written backwards. The first ever poem I wrote for this story told in verse, was “Spoonerism”, a piece about a family’s conversation during dinner. The characters were born there, in that split second, and from then on, it was easy to get them to follow me into the past. By the time I reached the start of the book, a world was made. A world that begged to be seen, touched, heard, loved and lived in.
Of course! Teething is the process of cutting milk teeth. To me, it means growing up, being exposed to changes, whether you like it or not. That’s what time does to you, it pushes you into adolescence, pushes you into adulthood, into old age, and you have to make peace with it. Painful as it is, you have to grow up. Teething represents that – the skidding into different phases of life, the paranoia and the euphoria, the phenomenon of becoming different versions of yourself. Teething is a book about blossoming, becoming.
Yes. But I’ve never been able to talk about the personal directly. I’ve seen people get so honest and open about their scars, their stories, and it’s inspiring. I find it difficult to express myself like that. Poetry is my medium. I get to talk in riddles when I’m in this space, I get away with lying and truth-telling, both incredibly dangerous, if you know what I mean. Writing is always going to be the easiest and the most challenging thing for me. It’s a paradox. Everything comes tumbling out, and then you feel really relieved and at the same time, uncomfortable. That’s how I felt when I wrote Teething.
Trauma destroys innocence. As we grow older, a lot of us lose ourselves along the way to heartbreak and loss and betrayal and every cruel thing the world has to offer. You never notice it when you’re young, but when you’re older, you can’t unsee it. The book has flashes of extreme naivete in it, but is also painfully self-aware and wise. But above all, amidst this debris of lost childhoods, I wanted to also show that there was hope. Joy. Loveliness. Peace. Magic.
I’m working on a storytelling module focused on girls’ education for kids in Kenya, Pakistan, Ethiopia, Nigeria, Guatemala and some other countries, alongside a nonprofit I really admire. I’m working on a book about grief. And most importantly, I’m working on…myself.
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