The Post Box



When The First Cycle Arrived

How is it this same piece of earth was once scrub jungle filled with wild peacocks? Now it is Sillamarathupatti’s main street. Fifty four years ago the road was little more than a track paved with clay and crushed granite. A scattering of houses. An open well. A farming...




The Water Master

He was a man who had always smoked bundles of beedis while working the land. Krishnasamy would irrigate our fields without a word, pausing only to enjoy his smokes. When he was hungry, he would pinch windfall coconuts, chop them in two, and eat the moist insides on the sly....