The Last Cart of Jowar
It was the summer of 1953, and the earth had cracked like old leather. In the village of Malkhed, where my grandfather, Devraj, lived, the wells had sunk to mud,...
It was the summer of 1953, and the earth had cracked like old leather. In the village of Malkhed, where my grandfather, Devraj, lived, the wells had sunk to mud,...
The monsoon had carved a new channel through the red earth, and the air in my aunt’s compound smelled of wet clay and frangipani. I’d flown in from California, my...
It had been four years since I last set foot in the coastal town of Merrin, a place where the sea breeze carried salt and sorrow in equal measure. I...
In the autumn of 1987, I took a job as a junior clerk at the National Bank of Meridian, and was posted to the Fernhill branch, a sleepy outpost in...
The warehouse at 14 Meridian Lane had always been a peculiarity. In a district of crumbling tenements and shuttered shops, it stood like a stubborn tooth in a rotten smile,...
The house my great-aunt Mira left to my mother was a relic of a forgotten age, perched on a wind-scoured bluff above the harbor town of Greyhaven. It had three...
Every October, I make the long drive north from Panaji to the old family estate near the Western Ghats. The road twists through forests that smell of rain and wet...
Listening to the woods...
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