Night sheds to day. Then sheds to morning again. No November can nod at incoming rain.  That is just a lot of clouds clashing on who will reach earth first. Rooting beneath is a butterfly, feeding on great marigolds. There is so much dance.                                 We forget footsteps of air in sky. The wind freely associates a memory to November. When fire dances on traffic signals and I see wait. November’s NoAmber collection adds one more memory: dissolves biscuits and sips her tea. There is casualness in the way we approach weather. A street bathes in wind, and that of all – has just stopped the sea from flying away. (Inspired from Kaveh Akbar's poem My Kingdom for a Murmur of  Fanfare)

This essay talks about the world of books and the actors who populate this world before the book reaches the hands of its reader. Mandi House metro station is located at a convenient place for the art lovers of New Delhi. Inside the metro station, hoardings can tell you about various art events at Indian Habitat Centre, National School of Drama, Lalit Kala Akademi, FICCI. Outside the metro station, with all the larger banners and billboards, you can get to know about various theatre and dance shows. Sahitya Akademi Library, Delhi Public Library, Oxford Bookstore, Goethe Institute, are at walking distance from this station. At regular hours, you can find people paying Rs. 5 for chai, sipping conversation in between and eating crack jack biscuits. There are also makeshift shops where you can buy chips, namkeen, sweet potato, chaat, handkerchiefs, socks, earphones, mobile covers, etc. The Jamun trees that line the Copernicus road provide enough shade during the worst summer days and...