by Anupam Singh, translated from Hindi by Areeb Ahmad Jens Peter Olesen A house opens like a prison. It closes like a prison. Silence has been scrawled on the faces of women, their breath held, crawling in my dreams. A man with a vain visage on whose face is visible many other faces. Lines of red tighten his eyes, laughter lies behind his moustache. This is neither a jail, nor is man a jailer. Still, it is a perfect prison. Who knows from what places women have been brought a