September 2018
In this issue
Contents
My Tiered Tiffin Box
In the late 1980s, Bombay (now Mumbai) had morphed into a rebellious teenager, the child of loving philanthropic parents but an incomplete adult, a poster-child..
The Roofer
I haven’t been homeless all my life. There was a time when I had a cozy bed to sleep in and a fine roof over..
Voices from the dark
“Lassiwala..oy… lassiwala!” The young girl’s voice drifted down the dark, rain-washed corridor of the chawl. She stood for a moment at the door of their..
The Gift
The lane in front of the school was a nightmare with its worn-out tarmac, non-existent pavement and the huge buses, mud flecked cars, rickety vans,..
THE FLY HAS NO PITY
Cooch Behar, West Bengal, India That week the rains came. On the morning of July 21 there was a heavy shower and a good deal..
For the sister in heaven
For twenty-one days, we’d visit Cold rooms of a strange hospital – Eager to see a baby with hydrocephalus breathe. But I’m glad you never..
The Young Maid
Dawn cracks over Delhi like a smooth, white egg, sunny yolk of hope, perennially dented, imperfect, in the welkin; on the wall, last night’s smoke..
Heavy Bodies
“This is the Hour of Lead – Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – First – Chill – then Stupor – then..
Making Ash
(for Ganga, 1937-2016) “The silence of the dead is easily ignored.”- C. Dale Young You’ll never be archaeology; they’ll never find your bones. Cause today,..