A Coorgi Sojourn

Daylight had broken not more than an hour ago. The two roosters - one jet black, and the other with its bright plumes and trademark red comb - welcomed the dreary travellers with their loudest crows. The smell of fresh air woke me out of my reverie. Receding mist peeped out from behind the tall …

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On Nudity

The rain has taken away the crunch of the dry leaves. They lie sedate, a soggy carpet on the muddy floors. The flaming orange of the exposed bricks, now a tired rust. Shoots crawl across the damp walls.    The haggard banyan juts its head higher up, not wanting to see the rot below. A steady …

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In Custody & Crisis: Article 15

Mom: “Aap bhi Bengali ho keya?” Pretty Girl: “We are Mohammedans” That was the parting tete-e tete at Mrs. Yaqub’s Light Shop, near Hawa Mahal. Her helper was an immigrant Bengali, and presumably Muslim. I assume because the man migrated from Murshidabad, a predominantly Muslim area. So my Mother’s logical inference was: the shop owner …

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