There was a house at the far end. Nobody lived there anymore. We stumbled upon it on our way out. A chance encounter. The building was old, decrepit. It held memories. Gajanan unlocked the door to a room that held heaps of chickpeas and jowar. They weren’t sold yet. It had been a while. […]Read more "She sits in the hall every afternoon guarding the onions from rain and dust. The rates fell that year…"
It was an old, dilapidated home. In this village, where the men and women sat in the courtyard all afternoon, where the wide dusty road led to settlements just like theirs, where the rains seeped through the cracks, and water pooled in the halls, there lived a family of seven. In that place, where clouds […]Read more "“It’s because I gave up on my dreams of attending college that my family can now eat…”"
“There will be many more deaths in the years to come, many more suicides. You wait and watch,” warned Ganesh as we walked alongside the road looking for stalls that sold lemon juice and cucumbers. “We are running out of water and food. How can a human being survive then? We can’t outwit death.” One […]Read more "If it weren’t for him, I would have killed myself. I thought my family could survive with the compensation…’"
So, they left. They don’t live there anymore. They work as labourers near the dam. They live in a tent now. There was nothing left for them in Bhise Wagoli. The forlorn streets, the high walls, the ceaseless crackle of dead twigs, vacant stares, the empty promises: they left them all behind. “They think it’s […]Read more "‘I lost everything because of that crop: my farm, my life, my daughter’"
There were no trees where they lived. They thought about leaving town. They couldn’t stay there anymore. Their homes weren’t much. They had nothing. Flowers didn’t bloom here. Their trees died. Their lives weren’t much. Some days, their toes resembled the earth: singed and scorched. Like figurines, they sat still in crowded streets where children […]Read more "‘Don’t mourn my death. Don’t observe any rituals. Save the money, and send my siblings to school’"
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’"
Remember this story of love and loss… She lived in Chennanur thanda. Some nights, they spent together. Some days, they lived apart. Even in those moments, they remained with each other. Outside the window that led to the hall where lights flickered ever so slightly at night, we caught him stumbling his way across the […]Read more "‘It is our death that catches your attention. Our lives are worthless…”"