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Reetika Vazirani


Hall Matron, Miss Naraman

Summer 1999 | Poetry

In maths, Geeta sits in front of me, long black plait— and Helen's, blue ribbon on her frizzled braid— not very tidy even if Hall Matron is strict. I am busy and you always muss up your hair— what would your mothers say— biting your nails [...]

The Divorce

Summer 1999 | Poetry

We get measured and weighed in the spring and once again in the fall. But who knows why I am short? All my energy goes running up and down the mountain: strange mountains—you run up and up for a long time, but on the map it looks only inches from [...]