I thought of a classroom which drowns the existence of ‘is this a fish market?’. I’d like to believe she is proud of everyone’s voice. All she converses with us is in AAAAAAAAAAAAA. In the past she won a thumbs up from thunderstorm. She has a habit of throwing things down — down staircase, down corridor, down balcony. In the last six months her mother’s slippers, my shoes, her chappals, toffee wrappers, tiny curls of Maggi still hanging on as exclamations the surprise lasted all the while till they hit the floor then it was just a rain drop. These days soft toy Ms. Dog, katoris, steel dinner plates, nokia phone, have all resonated different distances, heights and sounds. She walks up the stairs one foot at a time Tries to startle the stairs by asking it to come along. On the last step, her Majesty turns to look around Enquiring with one finger if the steps have followed her footsteps. Nobody does. Then she slides down the railings. As...

This morning I was made of ginger tea, yellow line, a boy counting masks, stepping out of coaches, walking, and crunching old leaves. No, this was not all, but yellow had spilled along. The guard at the office, wore Khaki in a weather of If shook my id card, held in hazy sunlight with spectacles still in pocket asked, “Second Last day?” I replied like a bee, busying the question mark. X-Ray machine scanned all that bags had. Meanwhile, the guard on a journey, asked “What are you working on?”                          “All of this.”   The bee had become a dot to stop because what if I tell him I just heard working as walking and that I don’t like the colour of the ground today? What if I tell him I was thinking to be a traffic light and that sky has been a bad question paper? Am I stupid because I worry about disasters more...