"When we die, as when the scenes have been fixed on to celluloid and the scenery is pulled down and burnt—we are phantoms in the memories of our descendants. Then we are ghosts, my dear, then we are myths" writes the Norwegian intellectual and author, Jostein Gaarder in his novel, Maya. He conjectures that mythologies are not inventions but truths that have been defaced into falsehood by the mist of time. Alike Gaarder, Ram believes myths are truths birthed from the mystical fairyland of experience. Thus, her work begins as an agency of archaeology in understanding of the historiography of her lineage. She employs this introspective medium in divination of her own mythology. For Ram, the tropes of fairy godmothers, goddesses, mermaids, sea witches and myths are key elements in the pop culture psyche of her identity.

In the opening poem, "88-01 88th Street," she renders a ritual of devotion to her ancestral practice and customs; from Hindu sacraments to inheritances and folklores. She writes about her grandmother, and other relations examining the subjects of relationships and intimacy. Ram investigates what it means to be part of someone, to belong to someone, to be owned, to love, be loved, to share and be shared with. She also explores this through the lens of marriages in the poem: "While Making Laddoo for my Cousin’s Wedding."

Food is also a kind of love language for Ram. Through the poems "Unripe Child" & "While Making Laddoo for my Cousin’s Wedding," one observes how the kitchen can become a shrine for communion. In the bustling chaos of modern day affairs, the kitchen becomes more than a place for meal-making but a safe space, where time slows down and pure moments of connections can be forged, while passing down culinary recipes and traditions. "But in the kitchen we couldn’t rush things. / Curries needed to simmer, to reduce & thicken..."

The kitchen, here, roleplays as a sanctuary to enact a deep religion to self and a community of mothers. Whether it’s cooking "dhal over white rice" for celebrations, "pressing dough into rounds," making "clapped roti," having "sautéed cabbage over corned lamb,"  "thai chicken curry / red paste & coconut milk / simmering to feed friends," passing down, reinventing, or learning recipes, the kitchen becomes a place for bonding, where meaningful and memorable connections can be shared. In these moments of collaboration, beyond a strengthening of bonds, a sense of belonging is cultivated, echoing in the lines of the poem "in lieu of a poem—": "the smell of rosemary & patchouli, how it reminds me of love… just love, familiar warmth."

A connection to deity is also an integral devotion to tradition for Ram. She believes she comes from a long line of gods and goddesses and upholds in reverence this spiritual mode of her being, embodying a sense of religion to self and the god of self. In "Divine Contrapuntal", she writes "like Durga I’d manifest." Durga alongside Shiva, both mentioned in “Divine Contrapuntal” are Hindu deities. In the titular poem, "earthly gods", she curates an expansive poetic and spiritual conversation around her experience of faith. In the opening lines of the poem, she writes:

my belief in god comes from / my grandmother / but let me be honest / for so

long / i could not believe in god / instead put my faith / in her devotion… / she told

me / when you have / no answers / close your eyes / & pray / & please / forgive me for

saying she / was my first religion

There is also a fundamental dialogue between the tensions of Ram's religion and her capacity for civility. She yearns for any sort of equanimity in this multiracial, multi-faith, and harshly depraved society. On this journey she sojourns with faith, believing she can/will be protected and preserved by her gods: who are her father, her mother, her grandmother, and her grandfather; essentially her people. She writes: "i cannot see them / but they surround me".

On the craft of language in the collection, she employs an empirical, lyrical, humorous yet serious calibration of diction and narratives to explore themes of mythology, religion and godhood. Ram also invites us to the remarkable knowledge of how our articulation of prayer and liturgies; the recitation and chanting, thins the membrane between us and the divine. That in that confluence, the spiritual form of ourselves can be harnessed.  In the poem "When The Air is Heavy", she testifies “Count to three. Repeat the gayatri mantra over & over while you will your body to rise."

Pulsing with narratives of family, of food recipes, of folklores, and mythologies, Ram's collection is a testament to the salience of legacies, teeming with stories of mortal and immortal women from her grandmother to the Kali Maa, a Hindu goddess. She invites us with exacting narrative and tectonically graced language to share in this rediscovery of self as the origins of who we are aids us to better understand ourselves and bring us in touch with the world around us. She believes we carry in us a sense of belonging and connection to the land from where we have come, either culturally, socially or economically. "Reacquaint yourself with the curves of your cheekbones, how they remind you of your grandmother," she writes in the poem "Ode to Self."

Ram believes, within us, we carry our ancestors, and they continue to thrive and live on, within us. In that way, we become custodians in the preservation of our histories.

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