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The first copies of Tea and Tombs: Poems on Hyderabad arrived today. A speed post parcel from Kolkata. Brown paper. Fresh ink. Crisp pages. A cover I had only seen on screens until now. I held the book for a long time before opening it. There is something deeply unsettling about seeing your own poems in print. These were once loose sheets tucked into diaries, forgotten notebooks, computer folders, and Google Docs. They belonged to years that had already passed. Suddenly they