Goddess mother sister daughter colleague friend wife lover slut.... Who is she? What is she in the early mornings, when she stretches her arms with a sleepy half-smile to prepare for another day? Who is she in the night side of her mind? When she looks down at her lap, the naked bulb above drawing long spears on her cheeks with the shadows of her eyelashes? Who is she, when alone in an elevator buzzing up the shaft, where no one can see or hear her? When her body shudders in the arms of her man? And then, when she curls up and snuggles into his chest?
Data is clay. Masses of gunk in which hide the secret shapes of sculptures. Like she lay concealed among the endless ticks in ‘relevant boxes’ in 1,086 questionnaires collated from 10 Indian cities. We went looking for her cryptic contours in her to-the-naked-eye random responses. We searched for her in the blinking numbers laid out on unwaveringly gridded spreadsheets. We found her.