Shivani Gupta is a poet, friend, daughter, wife, immigrant, food lover, dancer, and if you ask her yourself, she’ll add even more adjectives. 

I first met Shivani at the South Asia Institute in 2024, where we were both performing spoken word poetry. We discussed whose work spoke to us and, more importantly, whose did not. We discovered we both had overpaid for the same spoken word workshop in 2016 in India, me in Ahmedabad and her in Bombay, and had been circling each other’s work for years. We’ve been friends ever since, and our connection has only strengthened. We now work together on the Board for the Chicago Poetry Center and are already making plans to grow old together (us and our partners). When I found out about the publication of her first chapbook of original poetry, I knew I wanted to ask her about each and every poem. The book is titled ‘my mother is a mixed metaphor.’ It’s small, compact enough to fit in my back pocket, and can be found online at Rockwood Press’ website! 

Since the book is so much about Shivani’s mom, Sanyukta Gupta, I wanted to include her in the conversation. I interviewed her through text messaging. In her own words on WhatsApp, Sunyukta Gupta calls herself a messy, imperfect, grateful mix, a happy puddle of all her individual identities: mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, friend, and consultant, to name a few. 

She is a working woman, a mother, a wife, and is fierce about peace, mutual respect, love, and compassion. She believes that each of us has the capacity, ability, and above all, the empathy to give back and make a difference.  

For the interview, Shivani and I sat in her guest room to nerd out about writing, food, poetry, and everything in between. Our conversation is edited for clarity, but WhatsApp messages from Sanyukta Gupta appear as is.

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Darshita Jain (DJ): Before we start, do you have any questions for me? 

Shivani Gupta (SG): Whoa. I was not prepared for this. What do you think the book is about? 

DJ: I think the book is about the act of seeing. It’s you and your mom both being seen at the same time—the more you see, the clearer you both become. 

The first books are so exciting! You spend all your life making it. So tell me, when did the book start? When was the first poem in the book written?

SG: It was in January, 2022. The first poem I remember writing was mother as food mafia. I was in a 30-poems-for-30 days writing workshop. For the first half of it, I was really consistent. I was so diligent, I would sit with a bag of M&Ms and do it every day at the same time. 

On day 20, I traveled to India, and my entire schedule was disrupted. It was chaotic and loud with work and family. Any free minute I had, my mom was talking to me, and I was talking to my mom. One day, the workshop asked us to write down everything we were seeing and feeling. I wrote about how it’s impossible to say no to my mom when it comes to food because it’s her love language in a very extreme kind of way. 

She’s very loving, on display. I was observing how our relationship had changed and what being in Chicago and being away from her had allowed me to see of her. It wasn’t an intentional project at all. It kind of happened outside of the project I was trying to work on. And somewhere in there, I was like, oh, shit. Every third or fourth poem I write, she is present. She is always present in my work! 

DJ: (via WhatsApp): Sanyukta aunty, Shivani says, ‘food is your love language.’ Is it? Will you tell me ⁠how food is your love language and why? 

Sanyukta Gupta: I grew up with food as our family’s love language :)…as did my mother and her mother ! There was always space at the table (for yet another friend) and no empty space on the table (for yet another dish)😊 ….Sundays were special because my father would cook up a feast for lunch…my brother, sister and me scampering to do his bidding…happily chopping, washing, kneading…whilst my mother grumbled as every utensil we owned was deployed in this grand weekly exercise 🙂 

Many years later, as our dear son in law, Joe, discovered…not much had changed…mealtimes (read meals, ➕️ Chai ➕️in-between snacktimes😂) are still a ceremony…extended times for endless conversations, bonding,  laughing and of course discussing what he would like to eat for the next 3 meals!!!

DJ: That makes sense. Four years ago. So what was the project you wanted to work on? 

SG: The project I was working on was a full collection of poems, temporarily titled Turmeric Dust Stains Project. It was through that lens of abundance and cooking and the identities we hold. Recognizing that, being a daughter was my dominant identity right now. Somewhere in there, maybe six to eight months ago, I wrote a poem called my mother is a mixed metaphor. 

It was in response to a prompt about chairs and types of chairs. If you had to think about people in your life as chairs, who would they be? They gave us a list of chair options, and it occurred to me that my mom feels like not just a recliner, but she’s also a specific kind of luxe recliner that has snacks and leans back and has a blanket and has, like, a cooler next to it. 

DJ: Yeah, with the massager and everything. 

SG: That one. Yeah! That’s how this project started, though

DJ: That’s so beautiful! Because I was gonna ask you about the titles. Every poem is Mother as blank.  Food Mafia is one of my favorite titles. mother as fissure is another really good title. What was the decision-making process behind the titles? 

SG: I think the titles definitely came from the idea of, what if My Mother is a Mixed Metaphor is not just one poem but a collection? I started to look at the different metaphors I had in that poem: food, forgiveness, time, and spillage. I was feeling different textures when I thought about her. For me, it was an effort to recognize and to be able to name these different sides of her that were not comfortable, that were not just motherly.

These titles, for me, solidify the more concrete elements of her identity that were in relation to me, outside of me, outside of maybe what she sees of herself.

DJ: What was your mom’s reaction? 

SG: Since the book got accepted for publication, I met her three times. It was like monthly updates from her in a different language than the one I had in the book. There was so much dialogue with her and from her, also reading these poems and reflecting back. She never tried to change what was in there. She never tried to make me change my mind about anything that was in there. She says, This is your version, so it’s valid just by itself. 

She never tried to get me to soften any edges or enhance anything. 

Sanyukta: The book also made it clear that, as a mother, I have grown up and grown with and because of my children. The last poem, which is also one of my favourites, for its deceptively simple questions nudged me to think deeply and question myself…taking me to places I hadn’t ever explored or even been conscious about. 

20 questions that I am enjoying finding the answers to—are universal questions that every mother should ask of herself …“Who were you before us? Who are you hoping to see again soon? What do you hope sees you?”

DJ: Whose work do you think your work is in lineage with? 

SG: Gosh, there’s so many people! T. De Los Reyes, for example, what I’ve always loved about her work is that it can zoom in and zoom out of one image, one detail, and give you so much texture around that detail. At the same time, it feels rubber-band-like, where it’s suddenly about something much larger but still connected. There are no forced voltas, no forced imagery. T. is also one of the first people to have very dedicatedly told me that my hyper-specific poems are the best poems I’ve written. I think T. would definitely be one person I would want to be in lineage with. 

I think also about Victoria Chang’s work Obit, and how there can be repetition of form without it getting boring! And it’s not like I relate to her as a writer because our experiences are very different, but I appreciate the ability to sit with the same topic and go through it several times and still not feel like it’s complete. 

DJ: mother as spitting image is one of my favorite poems of the collection. I want to ask if you were to continue this poem into the next generation, what is in your pockets? 

SG: I wish less was in my pockets! I am a chronic collector of items, and it has lessened only because of my husband, who will check my pockets before he puts my jackets away.

As a family, I think this is some like weird-chronic-genetic shit that got passed on where we’re all little hoarders. We now know our grandma was one. My mom is one—she’ll have a pouch within a pouch within a pouch. She will rationalise every little thing she hoards. My maasi (aunt) does it, I do it. 

In my pockets, there’ll always be like a leaking pen. I still think that inspiration will strike me at any point, and I must be ready. I’ll always have some kind of a note-taking device. I’m also a germaphobe, so there’ll probably be some sanitizer, which I will say I have stopped carrying recently. Usually, AirPods, because I find it hard to be completely unstimulated if I’m going on some kind of walk. But lately I’ve been trying to leave those behind and listen to birds and trees and noise. 

I think I’ve been trying to declutter my pockets more. But they’re still, still, they’re still never empty.

DJ: I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. When I was reading this poem, it reminded me of how my friends would tell me my bag is expandable. Anytime anybody needs anything, it is in my bag. It would just take me a minute to find it.

SG: My grandmother’s bag has everything. If you need something salty, something sweet, if you need anything! Her whole logic is: what if someone needs this? 

I don’t think someone’s going to ask for a toothpick while we are on a flight from Goa to Bombay for 45 minutes. But she would have an abundance of toothpicks and an abundance of mishri (crystallized sugar). 

DJ: Tell me, how does being in India, the patriarchal structure we live within, and a woman’s role to make everybody comfortable all the time play into this? 

SG: See, I don’t feel the need to make my partner comfortable all the time. He’s a grown-up; he can do it himself. But that’s not what India is. I think for my mother and probably many other women, I imagine the role of a provider is massively underrepresented. Even if the men would bring the money, everything else, like caregiving, logistics, food, health, the provider is your mom. All women I am in lineage with were like that. The stereotypical maternal, abundant person that you would think of as a. Very of that time. 

Recently, though, Mom told me that watching my relationship with my husband and watching my brother’s relationship with his wife is helping her feel that discomfort is normal. It doesn’t have to be addressed. Silence doesn’t have to be filled. It’s okay for these things to occur, and they do not require her to immediately resolve or fix them.

DJ: I’d imagine that to be such a lush and full feeling, watching your mother sit with her feelings instead of resolving them immediately. Something that stood out as a motif in your work is fruits. There’s a lot of fruit appearances. There’s a bowl of strawberries. There’s mangoes. So I’m wondering if you could talk a little bit about why fruits? 

SG: My mother starts her day with fruits. I never was a fruit person until I moved to Chicago. It has something to do with seasons, I believe. When I was in India, Chennai and Bombay, Hyderabad too, I lived within a summer, monsoon, and monsoon summer. That’s it. 

After being here and having seasons change, changing the atmosphere, and daylight and routines, I recognized that your body craves different things throughout the year. Being appreciative of things that go away and return, because that’s how I feel about myself. I believe that I can ebb and flow, like the seasons, and I believe that the birds will come back and the trees will be full again, and fruits will arrive next season. 

DJ: What is your comfort food? 

Sanyukta: Comfort food for me ranges from simple home made yellow dal—chawal and lots of dahi to very crisp toast with amul cheese spread and tomatoes and of course Ritter Sport Marzipan chocolate! 

DJ: The book talks about ancestors. This ancestry, as a concept, is present through all the works. So tell me, what kind of ancestor would you want to be? 

Sanyukta: I do not see myself becoming an ancestor as both our children & their spouses are not inclined to have kids as of now. 

SG: Oh, God! There is a part of me that wants to say, “irrelevant” or “fleeting” or something smart like that. But I think it is innate in all of us to deeply want to be remembered for something. 

I think my favorite thing in the world is specific remembrance. Lately, when I think about someone, I just tell them! 

Getting off social media has definitely helped with this because I’m no longer parasocially engaging with anyone, and nor am I aware of their life marginally or in the background. So any communication I have with people in my life is now intentional by default. For example, “I ate this, and it reminded me of you.” Nobody is upset by that kind of message, even if it doesn’t lead to a massive conversation or a catch-up. Everybody likes to be remembered for something. 

So I think the kind of ancestor I would like to be is someone who remembered the little details about you.

DJ: That’s so sweet. I love that answer. 

If your mom were a tree, what tree would she be? 

SG: Whichever one has the most shade for everyone. Banyan tree. She’ll be a big, massive tree that hosts everyone under its shade. Without a doubt, she’s definitely that tree. It was very normal for my brother’s friends, my friends, random uncle, aunties, whoever, to just be in our house all the time. Yeah. So, yeah, a gorgeous shade-giving tree.

DJ: In the two poems in particular, Mother as Wellness Check and the end of mother as awkward mixer you talk about the decision to not have kids of your own. What was that like? First the conversation and then the writing about it? Was there grief, friction, or determination driving it? 

SG: Maternal instincts aren’t genetic. I truly believe that. My parents have never interfered in my decision-making. I have always had a safety net. I’ve never felt alone in my decision-making ever, and so from a fairly young age, I needed to be reliable. I have made very safe decisions. I’ve never dated anyone who is an outright bad boy because I couldn’t take him home to my parents. My parents are people that I never want to lie to. So by default, I think there were a lot of decisions in my life that got filtered through that lens of, “Can I share this with my parents?” If not, then I’m not going to do it. 

They have made me a woman that doesn’t think less of herself in any way because of my age, because of my gender, because of my ethnicity. There is no room that I walk into and feel less than. And I came to that realization, around age 23/ 24, living in Bombay, somewhat by myself, and being an adult for the first time. I remember I asked myself, “Is this what I want?” Or is this the life that I want, or what I’ve inherited as a formula for a good life? At which point, I started rethinking my relationship to success, to money, to love, to family. 

The decision to not have children was an immediate no for me. That was the first piece of clarity I had about myself. 

I think my mom knew. Somewhere she knew, and she would also say, “This is a joy you will never know until you’ve had your own children,” Which lately I’ve stopped debating with her about. I accept that trade-off. There is no arguing that! 

That is when my mother realized that we were not negotiating. We are accepting that she will not have the joy of being a grandmother because of me, and I will not be a mother. I don’t feel a pull. I don’t feel a gap of any kind in my life.

DJ: Yeah. I really, really appreciate that about your work and you. Because I think it’s a hard conversation to have, no matter what century you live in, and no matter what country you live in. 

SG: Especially when your mom has given you no trauma to point at! I often laugh and tell them that they did such a great job with us; nothing can live up to the standards they set. They are amazing people, both of them. Genuinely good parents. It is not contentious at all. It’s really sweet. 

My mom was concerned about this book: she asked, “What makes this interesting to someone? Why would someone who doesn’t know you want to read this or doesn’t know us?” 

We just relate to each other as people. Which is not to say that she doesn’t play the role of my mother, because she definitely does, and how! But we are also two women in this day and age. We are two people at this time in history. My mom and I talk about politics, and my mom and I gossip. We talk about clothes. We talk about food. We talk about everything. I think that is worth noticing, no?

DJ: Yes. It is. It’s like your mother allowed you to be a human being and not just her daughter. 

SG: 100% true 

DJ: Both you and your mom are becoming clearer and clearer in the book by the act of witnessing and filling in more details. What was something you didn’t know about her before writing this chapbook?

SG: Something I didn’t know that broke my heart was—my mom doesn’t have an answer for who she thought she was gonna be or what she wanted to be. Having been in India when she was, my mom disappeared into a family or our identity without having one of her own. That makes me really sad. In my opinion, she would be great at anything she wants to do! And she is now as a working woman. In trying to write this book, in trying to capture all of her, I realized that she is still growing as a person, and there’s beauty in that and some sadness in that. I don’t think you’re ever fully formed. I think you’re always growing. She definitely is. 

DJ: I remember once, my mom said she tried to change the world and realized she couldn’t. But she could raise three children who could try harder and longer. So that is what she decided to do. It feels like such a big reflection of your mom’s parenting and her as a human being that her children are letting her grow up. 

SG: It’s funny you say that because we only fight about silly things. My brother thinks it is easy for us to focus on and fight about these very minor things because the bigger things are taken care of. We are like a very supportive foursome of people; we have deep love and respect for each other as people. Our partners, too, have a genuinely good relationship with our parents. And I can’t imagine any other familial structure now. 

DJ: Touch wood. 

SG: Touch wood. 

DJ: You’re not just talking about being lucky. You’re also talking about the work it takes to sustain something on that level. From intention, to the benefit of the doubt, to not assuming. It speaks a lot to safety, to be very honest, which leads me to my last question. A lot of work, specifically first books or first works that are published are a release of some sort. I don’t get that sense from this book. If it wasn’t a release, what was it?

SG: My mom and I have been talking the same way for the last couple of months, as we always have, especially at least the last few years. There is no massive shift in our relationship. The book isn’t the only thing we’re talking about. So this definitely didn’t feel like a release. This felt maybe like a mirror, but the image of a mirror also feels stuck in time; there’s a feeling of stretchiness and elasticity to this. So the mirror doesn’t feel right. 

Maybe a thali.¹ It felt like eating a really, really well-cooked thali. It has everything I need in the right proportions. And I wouldn’t change a thing. 

¹A thali is a traditional Indian meal served on a large platter, with a variety of small dishes designed to provide a balanced mix of flavors—sweet, salty, bitter, sour, and spicy. It typically includes staples like rice, dal, vegetables, roti, curd, and chutney, and dessert.

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