she sits there and watches the grimy fan blades sluggishly displace the air and is reminded of those afternoons when the power would fail plunging the airless box that was vi c in to darkness forcing them to squint at the tattered maps bala miss used to teach them about the south westerly monsoons, arctic flora and fauna and the himalayas aware of the faint injustice of it all that lingered in the room along with the smell of kurma and sour curd rice unaware of irony
2 comments:
the miss malas and the tattered maps seem to be one universal experience!
The style is oddly reminiscent of something I wrote once.
I love the pictures accompanying your posts. Stunning. But I hate to point out that its almost like "cheating" a little - like when films use a plaintive score to push along your emotions in the right direction...nothin' wrong with setting some mood, but again isnt it a little manipulative....aaargghh..I dont know - am on the fence about this one!
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