In the street and on the doorways are groups of women sitting huddled to spin narratives as their eyes flashed and bodies crouched in expectancy.
Their faces spoke of the high drama extracted out of the most banal events that took place in the neighborhood
A marriage where the knot is bound to loosen because we know that within us and they do not know it.
The color of a sari which had repeated itself because memory has played tricks.
The housemaid who got beaten by a drunk husband refuses to call it a night.
Dark are the deeds and nightly goings-on in the opposite house where a lantern flickers weakly at the dead of the night.