(Written in early June) It is 1.30 in the afternoon. The sky is washed out and blinding, no particular colour

He sits, hands on his thighs, staring resolutely ahead. His features are finely picked out, he wears a surprisingly à

The wind that blows into my balcony comes salt laden off the Arabian Sea. It is a cool shivery breeze

It started with the pomelo. The fruit was delicious one year, pale green, dimpled and fragrant on the outside, pink

Their balding heads and beer bellies are newly acquired. They used to be young and fit, hell raisers and athletes.

Waudby Road CST signal this morning. The shiny scrubbed children in school uniform flow past, all bright hopeful faces, heavy

A quarrel of sparrows caught my attention this morning. Curiously, they were perched, almost a dozen of them, on the