December has always been a wonderful month for me, writing-wise and otherwise. It’s starting to look like this year won’t be any different. Some of you might remember a little… Read more »
This place is dark, not literally. It must be around 10 in the morning, but the city is as quiet as a cemetery at night. It sucks the air out of me. This seems like a place where where happiness comes to die. The air hangs thick, as if the sky was filled with viscous tar. I see barbed wire everywhere. The staccato clomping of combat boots is probably the only heartbeat this place has.
Present day Jallianwala Bagh with actual bullet marks Pic Courtesy – Dr. Graham Beards on Wikipedia One step, two steps, walk, walk, walk, I chanted to myself, coaxing my legs… Read more »
“Death steals everything but our stories”. The Sandalwood Tree begins with this quote from one of its main characters, Adela Winfield, a ‘memsahib’ living in India in 1857. It’s her… Read more »