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Chapter 1
Fresh stationery arrived at the desolate hut. The stained white cotton that clad the bearer, soused in sweat and the aroma of the fresh leaves, announced the arrival. The man came over to the entrance without being called and extended a terracotta vessel containing water. He must have been awaiting the arrival. With a pint, the farmer was off into the mid day sun. His bare chest and back were full of melanin, protecting him from the harsh light. He runs a finger over the eyebrows. The eyes talk of a distance that they have seen and the rest that they have to see. The clear definition of the ribs and chest tell the tale of an existence sans any stocks. He gently pulled up the towel from behind his neck and covered his head and ears and let the towel spread along the shoulders and continued walking in a measured pace. He pulled the part on his head a little to the front so as to provide shade for his eyes. He kept his chin low and the bare feet moved daftly across the hot gravel of this semi arid land. Scattered green shrubs and black trunks of palmyrah palms are the only exceptions to the sepia palette. The blackened monolith was thinking of his own porch and a bowl of rice soaked in butter milk and some shallots to go with it.
The man sat down on his front porch with his back straight. He inspected a few of the leaves. The pale green contrasted against the brown of his own skin. He has to treat the leaves with turmeric and break them to size. The palm and coconut fronds that lined his roof, had an aroma that is only rivaled by the fresh stock of his stationery. A beetle tried drunkenly to enter a little hole in one of the bamboo shafts that ran horizontally atop from one hard wood pillar to the other. The bamboo and the coir that bound it to the pillar have both been weathered into a dusty gray with cracks running across the length of the beam. He closed his eyes. There were sounds of some house sparrows. Cuckoos and starlings too were out there somewhere. The beetle's buzz added a serenade over the postprandial dip.
He woke up as the sun hid behind the canopy of the palm tree that rose out of the horizon. Very little of the day remained.
Chapter 1
Fresh stationery arrived at the desolate hut. The stained white cotton that clad the bearer, soused in sweat and the aroma of the fresh leaves, announced the arrival. The man came over to the entrance without being called and extended a terracotta vessel containing water. He must have been awaiting the arrival. With a pint, the farmer was off into the mid day sun. His bare chest and back were full of melanin, protecting him from the harsh light. He runs a finger over the eyebrows. The eyes talk of a distance that they have seen and the rest that they have to see. The clear definition of the ribs and chest tell the tale of an existence sans any stocks. He gently pulled up the towel from behind his neck and covered his head and ears and let the towel spread along the shoulders and continued walking in a measured pace. He pulled the part on his head a little to the front so as to provide shade for his eyes. He kept his chin low and the bare feet moved daftly across the hot gravel of this semi arid land. Scattered green shrubs and black trunks of palmyrah palms are the only exceptions to the sepia palette. The blackened monolith was thinking of his own porch and a bowl of rice soaked in butter milk and some shallots to go with it.
The man sat down on his front porch with his back straight. He inspected a few of the leaves. The pale green contrasted against the brown of his own skin. He has to treat the leaves with turmeric and break them to size. The palm and coconut fronds that lined his roof, had an aroma that is only rivaled by the fresh stock of his stationery. A beetle tried drunkenly to enter a little hole in one of the bamboo shafts that ran horizontally atop from one hard wood pillar to the other. The bamboo and the coir that bound it to the pillar have both been weathered into a dusty gray with cracks running across the length of the beam. He closed his eyes. There were sounds of some house sparrows. Cuckoos and starlings too were out there somewhere. The beetle's buzz added a serenade over the postprandial dip.
He woke up as the sun hid behind the canopy of the palm tree that rose out of the horizon. Very little of the day remained.