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Summers of Pink Bougainvillea

As time passes, memories fade but impressions last. Notes from a childhood.

he rickshaw rolls down the main road in Bhiwani, the air tinged with the smells of summer heat, burnt cow dung, and open drains. It’s not all unpleasant. The shade of the gulmohar trees lining the road holds the promise of a known yet undiscovered summer break with the family.

I grasp the sides of the rickshaw as it plunges off the tar road and onto a kaccha gully. A bump, a jolt and we are now swaying in our seats. The rickshawalla remains unfazed by the change in topography…



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Shades Of Words

California based culture blogger, obsessive & compulsive reader, globetrotter. Day job in technology. Writes at!