Amma inherited from the grey women, who salt- and-peppered over the cracks in her kori-rotti, the unloving side of mothers. When we cried for pizzas, she, after a beating, would cut uttapams into four slices, and garnish with promises to be better. ** This poem was first published in The Alipore Post

An erasure digitally blacked out from p. 503 of Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie. ** This poem was first published in Unlost Journal: Issue 26