At the crossroads, where Masrudi ended and began roads that led to a settlement of nomads, dust billowed in the streets. Lone clusters of trees rattled in the winds. Few people were in the streets. Fewer in the woods. Along the edges of dead farms were shrubs that sprung into action with gusts of wind […]Read more "‘Water. That’s what we will fight over next…’"
In distant lands, where wreaths of dust and smoke rose in whorls, near vast oceans where trees bent towards shade, where grey structures hovered in the horizon, people strolled in passageways that led them to a space they called home. These streets held sorrow. A woman’s sobs caught everyone’s attention. Another death, another life lost. […]Read more "‘Farmers have had no place in society. The bottom is no place to be…’"
Indefinite strike, indefinite trials, indefinite call to justice Brown, green and grey were their pots. In a haphazard line, they were left unattended near the hand pump at dawn. Everything ran dry in these regions: borewells, ponds, lakes, tanks, and even farmlands. Shadows of abandoned structures hung in corners. Dark omnipresent forms writhing on the […]Read more "‘If it doesn’t rain this year, what you see will turn into barren lands. Nothing will be spared’"
She wasn’t there. Beneath the tree, she’d sit all morning while her grandchildren played in the courtyard. She’d look at the street, at the debris scattered on the roadside, at the construction site where lay trolleys of bricks and stone, at the flowers that never blossomed, at empty balconies with mats filled with red chillies. […]Read more "‘Without rain, there can’t be any crop. Without crop, there can’t be any man…’"