Tag _shortstories
I By the time the 9 a.m. bus honked past the chowk, Karol Bagh had already begun to yawn into life. The grocer pulled up his half-shutter, the temple bell struck its first note, and the smell of fried kachoris rose from the street corner. Beside the iron lamppost outside Rachna Book Depot, an old man … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com