The Dust of Joy
There is a particular hour in the afternoon when the air in the market stalls of Madhu Vihar seems to thicken, as if the city itself is exhaling the day’s accumulated heat and history. I often find myself wandering these narrow arteries in…
(c) Light & Composition UniversityThe Dust of Being Alive
When I was seven, my cousin Tunde and I spent an entire afternoon chasing the red clay dust kicked up by the neighborhood trucks. We didn't have toys, so we made them out of whatever the street offered—a discarded plastic bottle, a smooth…
The Gravity of Letting Go
The smell of damp earth after a long drought is a heavy, metallic scent that clings to the back of the throat. It is the smell of anticipation, of a world holding its breath before the release. I remember the feeling of jumping from a low stone…