The Grit of New Skins
The smell of cold iron always brings me back to the winter my father worked the rail yards. It is a sharp, metallic scent that clings to the back of the throat, tasting faintly of copper and dry, frozen wind. There is a specific texture to…
The Salt of the Road
The smell of charcoal smoke always brings me back to the grit of a roadside morning. It is a sharp, acrid scent that clings to the back of the throat, mingling with the heavy, humid heat that presses against your skin like a damp wool blanket.…
Hope in Eyes by Tathagata Das
This photograph was taken at a roadside in my city Kolkata. He was a very poor old man but he a wonderful singer. The people who stay in that locality just love to hear his song. The man is so poor that he sleeps on the road and don't have house…