On the Front Porch

Practice Diary 4 – It was low tide, and the small bit of shore in front of the tree was revealed. I went down there – it was like standing on the front porch of my home. A porch the sea was coming for, the tree being the house. I turned back to look at her, and from that point of view I finally understood the mystery of those exposed roots.

Practice Diary 4 – I wrote this on New Year’s Eve 2022, to Varsha, who had messaged me with a watercolor painting of her Tamarind tree in Baroda.

Art by Varsha Nair

It was low tide, and the small bit of shore in front of the tree was revealed. I went down there – it was like standing on the front porch of my home. A porch the sea was coming for, the tree being the house. I turned back to look at her, and from that point of view I finally understood the mystery of those exposed roots. Coastal erosion – allow me to translate the term: all of the intricate architecture of roots had once been covered by mud and sand, perhaps half a vertical meter or more lost to the sea. How long had she been like that, holding on to bare rock, with nothing under her feet? And how much longer would she be able to withstand the waves? I thought of things that I might do, like build stilts for support. It would be a good art project to propose, something about ecology and conservation, something about our dire straits. And even that would have been a gift from her – I once saw a branch washed up so that it was lodged just so under the one root that reached out towards the sea. The branch was so solidly placed that I couldn’t nudge it at all, as if an expert carpenter had put it there. It lasted a good 4 weeks, but one afternoon I visited and it had been washed away. Did I think I could do better? Yeah, I suppose so! A series of images of what I could try flashed through me rapidly; ideas are so pleasurable. But it faded quick. I couldn’t bear the thought of her propped up like a cripple, perhaps with screws or rebar – a picture to tell myself a story of human ingenuity and artful invention. Whatever I did I could not return the mud and sand, in this lifetime. My love could not return the land that had been taken. Here she was still standing on her own; she felt solid as a mountain under my weight – home, at last, for a lost child of immigrants – I was just another little snail nestling in a gnarled root. How did this place on the edge of the water become the center of my world.


September 2021

November 2021

April 2022

March 2023

Thorn Through the Screen

Practice Diary 3 – Started 3 March, finished 8 March 2023

Behind every image lies feelings, memories, thoughts and emotions, pressing up like thorns, or a body… a body of thorns – their sharp tips push against the skin, threatening to puncture it. The screen is hard glass, but it offers endless images that are like skins. We perceive with our eyes, soft sacs of membrane and jelly. Behind every image lies feelings, memories, thoughts and emotions, pressing up like thorns, or a body… a body of thorns – their sharp tips push against the skin, threatening to puncture it. The screen is hard glass, but it offers endless images that are like skins. We perceive with our eyes, soft sacs of membrane and jelly. Behind every image

CW [Content Warning] – Blood, Gore: The images included after the mindmap below may be disturbing to some viewers. Includes photos of the author’s bloody face during a boxing match, and AI generated images (using CrAIyon) with the prompts ‘muay thai’, ‘female’, ‘asian’, ‘short hair’, ‘cut’, ‘bloody face’, ‘fight’, ‘oil pastel drawing’.

A Shrine Becoming Itself

Practice Diary 2 – 28 Feb 2023

There is so much that I want to do. I want to collect all the red fabric that washes up on the beach and sew it into a mantle to hang around the shrine. I want to collect the fallen, tannin-rich leaves to dye an old bedsheet, and stamp it with a pattern of swirling grain speckled with star-like blooms, to leave this as an offering on a breezy day, when the sun is somehow both mild and bright. I want to push dozens of empty liquor bottles into the ground to mark a doorway. More than anything, I want to take the trash out of the sacred hollow and lay a curse on anyone who tosses so much as a candy wrapper in there again.

But the Bodhi tree is growing fine, nestled by garbage. Protected by garbage. Even the burned tree herself isn’t dead. A brand new trunk is somehow growing out of the remains, the leaves forming a perfect canopy above the hollow.

Every time I visit, I plan to do something. I want to a make a shrine. But the place says, in the tone of my old muay thai master and one I might have used myself, when teaching someone how to make a print: watch me first.

Another House I Can’t Leave (Rihanna! Rihanna!)

Practice Diary 1 – Mon, 27 Feb 2022

Tossing and turning in the chrysalis. Breaking down a dream. The images change but the pattern stays the same. It’s always a house I can’t leave. I think this is the first time I dreamt it as a Mall. It’s the one I grew up in – 1 Utama. I’m a ghost wandering down darkened thoroughfares, reciting brand names like I’m identifying plants in the forest: Watsons, NEXT, Laura Ashley, Somerset Bay, British India, Royal Sporting House, Dragonfly, ESPRIT, MNG, Topshop…

Nice to come home to my home on the internet. When did home become a place where no one wants to visit anymore? It’s warm in here, I lit a fire.

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