All Things Considered


The heat has no fragrance, neither feeling, nor touch, or sense or sensuality. The heat has no memory, neither thought nor feeling.


The Hitchcockian fog in Delhi carried the moist midnight north wind from the mountains and the cinematic night unfolded without a sense of mystery.

She has arrived…

It's just that despite everything hope floats. It arrives with the miracle of anticipation, like waiting for the winter chill, and it stays back in dream and wakefulness when an orange morning enters the window and lights up the corridors. The wind says hello to the subdued sunshine.