The Lakebed
In a riverless city, the promise of water is enough. My mother and I pin our hopes to each monsoon, and evenings in June that stroll the circumference of our bayou-to-be. Starved of fish, the empty lake harbours cattle, gangs of dogs and cricket games — we see snatches of batsmen thr
Dusk Shadows
There’s a swell in the yellow assembly: bamboos rustle and hush, unable to contain their giggling at the wind’s rush as huddled and prone to sway as teenage girls – I am almost jealous of these young trees at the edge of the garden skimming stone and sky, knees knocking in the breeze, called t
