Posted by Maithili Bavkar
Sowing seeds
published on : June 24, 2025
First published on February 2022
Today, Tomorow,
published on : June 4, 2025
I woke up having forgotten which way to turn the key to my door.
It was as though somebody had taken apart pieces of me while I had been asleep, only to put me back together, like a puzzle; and in the process had misplaced one of the pieces. So irrelevant it had been, that the puzzle looked complete enough without it, and the solver just walked away shrugging.
Or maybe it was an accident on a microscopic scale, concerning a couple trillion neurons and synapses, and a single fallen martyr.
First published in July 2023
Today, Tomorrow,
published on : June 3, 2025
I woke up having forgotten which way to turn the key to my door.
It was as though somebody had taken apart pieces of me while I had been asleep, only to put me back together, like a puzzle; and in the process had misplaced one of the pieces. So irrelevant it had been, that the puzzle looked complete enough without it, and the solver just walked away shrugging.
Or maybe it was an accident on a microscopic scale, concerning a couple trillion neurons and synapses, and a single fallen martyr.
It was the strangest feeling, a singular brick knocked out of me. An abrupt disrupting of everyday rhythm, a river suddenly plucked from the ground and shaken from one end like straightening a bedsheet. I wonder if there was something I did to induce this strange phenomenon. Did I sleep too little, or too much? Did I hit my head accidentally or grind my teeth a little too hard? I might have dwelled in that intermediate space between sleep and wakefulness, where sight is blurry and breaths are scarce.
I may wake up tomorrow with a new loss, one that must be unearthed and stolen from deep within my bones, one that hides in gestures, in my body; the treasure chest.
I may forget
the time my body wakes itself up each morning.
Or the persistence of morning light that fills the room and pours into my eyelids.
I may forget
the feeling of the weighted blanket that holds me in its cocoon
how much I yearn for that weight on my body that is without purpose or promise.
I may forget
to put people on pedestals.
the quick short breaths I take before entering a room full of people.
I may forget
how my handwriting betrays me, as I put down thoughts to solidify and validate,
the letters that sense my uncertainty and begin to tremble and shrink.
I may forget
the way I dissolve my own speech, garnishing my lines with ‘uhs’ and ‘ums’,
sprinkled like pepper on lemonade, only ever allowing the listener small sips.
First published in July 2023
Making of List
published on : May 18, 2025
First published in November 2023
Biography
Maithili Bavkar is an artist based in India. She completed her MA in Visual Arts from Ambedkar University, Delhi. In her practice, she often engages with the uncanny through various mediums, including fictional allegories, poems, sound, video, and explores alternate possibilities for speakabilities through artistic interventions. Maithili Bavkar was part of ‘Chi Chi’ exhibition curated by Shivanjani Lal at Firstdraft Gallery, Sydney, Australia, “Turf Water” group exhibition, ARTBAT FEST, Almaty, Kazakhstan and a solo exhibition ‘Black Brides’ in Clark House Initiative, Mumbai in 2018.