‘I drifted past heliotropic rubbish-heaps, elderly/white houses.’ ( The Bandra Medical Store ) - Amit Chaudhuri

The gutters in the lane overflowed with an odd, languid grace. Water filled the lane; rose from ankle-deep to knee-deep. Insects swam in circles. Urchins splashed about haphazardly, while Saraswati returned from market with a shopping-bag in her hands; insects swam away to avoid this clumsy giant. Her wet footprints printing the floor of the house were as rich with possibility as the first footprint Crusoe found on his island.

Water begins to boil in the kettle; it starts as a private, secluded sound, pure as rain, and grows to a steady, solipsistic bubbling.

‘As the sun came up, we/saw the leaves peer out, shivering.’ ( Letter from the Hills )