Some magic requires no wands. It is a quieter craft—the gentle, persistent pull that keeps scattered stars in the same constellation. For three decades, in our constellation of schoolyard souls, that magic has been Preeti. She is the weaver whose hands never tire of tending the threads …
Stories
Rain
“Ven, cariño,” I call, patting the sofa by the balcony where Madrid folds into itself in terracotta and laundry lines. The rain here is different—cleaner somehow, less perfumed than Pune or Mumbai—but at sixty, I have learned that rain, like memory, changes flavor depending on where one is …