hopscotch

'There was nothing wrong in it,' Dada Bhai said, his head bent towards the cold, unyielding floor. 'Sir?' asked Tapan, who had followed him out, just as he had ushered him in personally. 'A boy and girl loved each other. There was nothing wrong in what Sanaz did. Love. That is what is halal for me.' Valmiki would not be contained, she knew, whenever the news reached him. He would rage within. Waste away in the cavity of his chest. She needed to bundle up all her nerve and pack it inside her. Convey to him soundlessly that he was fortunate to be loved for two years. Two years! An eternity for someone who had not got two whole hours of it in her life.  'A whiff of rosewater is enough...' On Makar Sankranti when the kites soar high, Sanaz' wings are brutally clipped. She is found dead in her room and what follows is a trail of questions hiding violence in their midst; of corrosive human behaviour. The ugliness and degenerate behaviour of the many a char