I grew up in an Air Force family in India, which resulted in me moving around the country frequently. I experienced a number of transitions throughout my adolescence, and poetry was a means for me to process and understand these transitions. In the vein of transitions, I moved to the USA almost a decade ago, and have watched my identity develop as an Indian living in the USA. Living at the intersection of these two cultures has been a source of inspiration for my poetry. I am an educator by training and passion. I have written poetry and led poetry workshops with adult survivors of domestic violence and sexual assault; and I have written poetry with and taught poetry to 6, 7, and 8 year old children. I have a passion for social justice and for lifelong learning. These are two themes I focus on often in my work, my writing, and my identity. I wrote poems for my school and college magazines and have had a love affair with poetry since I was a teenager, finding inspiration in all aspects of my lived experience - from controlling zits to facing my abuser. Poetry has subtly and dramatically changed my life. I love poetry, physics, tinkering in the kitchen with ingredients, my bike ride home from work and counting shades of pink in the sky, and dancing like no one's watching. I am currently occupied by the Tower of Hanoi, Fibonacci poems, thinking about the next fun project to do with my nieces and nephews, and learning 4 chords on my guitar. And I'm more. I am the kid who loves to lie flat on the concrete of a basketball court and feel a warm monsoon storm all around her. I am the map not yet finished. I am the tea that got cold. I am the unsynchronized ticks of the clocks in my classroom. I am the precision of the atomic clock in my bathroom. I am the lazy Saturday morning that never left the couch. I am the masala that gets in your nails after devouring a plate of rajma-chawal on a Sunday with my Ma. I am the shadow following my Pa. I am the third earring in my right ear. I am the laughter echoed from my sister's untarnished joy. I am the muted greens of April in Colorado. I am the color that got left out of the rainbow. I am the knee that never healed. I am the question no one asked. I am the drop in the ocean that fell in vain. I am the lone tree that benefitted from the rain. I am the feet standing on shoulders I can't count. I am here and I am now.