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kurukshetra

sarees tell stories

a lament for a saree

it’s a favourite saree of mine, and now it’s fraying. a strange kind of pain at this weakening of closely entwined threads, at this clear signal of mortality, at passing. it’s a saree from orissa, now the spelling has been changed to odisha; we spend a lot of time changing spellings for some reason. my mother and i bought it, around thirty five years ago, from one of the saree shops along triangular park in kolkata (we changed that spelling…

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sarees tell stories

sand banks, memory, and baluchari

golden arrows rained down, a charioteer looked back at the archer standing behind him. who was he shooting at? i looked to the left. a man stood on another chariot holding the reins as a pair of horses reared, one of the chariot’s wheels seemed to be stuck in the mud and a warrior in reddish orange and gold was beside it, perhaps trying to get it out. who were they? even though my mind wasn’t articulating clearly, i knew…

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