A reflection on the myriad and plentiful greens of the listless city of Pune in an attempt to ward off the disparaging heat-fatigue of New Delhi.
Shame, non-acceptance, and exclusion unfailingly accompany baldness. But baldness can be fertile, too—for humour and style, if nothing else.
Modern, Western-aspiring society has a crisis of lifestyle; its problem is not its physical distance from nature, but its emotional distance.
Tara wished she could speak more at these meetings, but there were important people here. She had to make a good impression.
Tara had just discovered an ugly truth. This man, this public servant, was flaunting his corruption. She didn’t want him to win.
Fear and guilt, judgement and inconvenience: one writer recounts her struggles of staying over at a male friend’s house in a city like Bombay.
This, the steep path to the forest, was their brief escape to a world free of judgment.
Girls, whose bodies had widened, gyrated and swayed, performing in ways society wouldn’t otherwise allow.
As the women sat together, they picked the leaves off the branches, leaving only the tiny buds that now smelled ripe with intoxication.
At this moment, more than anything, she wished she too could giggle and laugh and read words and whisper secrets.
At times like these, Tara missed the gentle music of her village, which was so unlike this town.
Hair that shined in the morning light, ruddy cheeks, small eyes, and full lips. Their gaze, she knew, rested on her.