Rangrez (2018)

 If in some odd twist of fate, you were to end up in my familial home and found yourself in the tiny room where my grandmother prays every day, you would find an even tinier door — hid behind curtains and made easy to miss — leading to a room where her mother-in-law lived towards her last days. In her death, this room weeps still, with all the objects that people of the household have lost interest to claim ownership of. My grandmother, a beloved professor, left the photographs of her receiving her graduation degree, that she brought with her to this home with hope, in a room where defeat comes to rest.

Photographed here is my twin sister in the room that my grandmother’s mother-in-law lived towards her last days; in the saree that my grandmother used to wear towards her retirement, against the dug-out photographs of her with her degree. With time — and these photographs — this room has now turned into the corner of the house where objects that lack ownership but exhibit independence reside.