She turned towards me and everything around me paused for a second. She moved her lips to say the name and I was keenly listening to hear her name.
Quelling protests from her daughter and brother, she sat down and began, “Dussera is this Sunday and this time we are going to celebrate it in a traditional different way…”
Editor’s Choice: Dusshera or Dasain, as we call it. The most celebrated and joyous festival of all. There is a special aura about it. The clear blue sky with a tinge of white clouds spattered over.