-Rage is my colour- Oh youre a Brahmin too! she had exclaimed- with an expansive hand, and a sherbet syrupy sweet. Of course we shall accommodate your daughter Why, I had asked then- shame, in every goosebump. We are the same caste you see, she smiled- showing me her God house, then. Like dolls they lay, clothed, fed and content. Near your balcony, there is a Gulmohur tree I told her- Have you see it flower? She nodded her head, puzzled- Every morning, an old man sits there Bhairavi, in his human voice. My God and caste are there, here, is too crowded. Courtesy to - Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury
Posted on: Mon, 04 Aug 2014 11:30:07 +0000
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