The voice definitely sounded like my son’s. His call for help. But it was a stranger who was mimicking my son’s voice. To this day I have not been able to put my finger on it.
You are my friend who’ll never go away, Going away is time, like sand in my hands, It slips through my fingers , each grain is a memory, My memory I share with you.
Like a Divine comedy initiated by God, during his moments of indulgence in dark humor and drunken wine stupor. God, created a ‘glitch’ in evolution
The year was 2001. It was a warm day in Trivandrum and I had finally managed to wrap up the day after a discussion with the clients.
There was a rumor (or was it a rumor?), that the village graveyard had a unique scent to it since last week, as if someone has put incense stick which was divine