The palash are in bloom—delicate, fragile. Selective! Just one or two flowers reluctantly scattered under a massive tree.
Watching a child’s glee at her first soap bubbles….
A friend pointed me to an online reseller of used books. Hardly used books, very used books, books so fragile they tear when you turn the page… but what a steal. Appeals to my frugal heart, though I went overboard with the buying… a book on 1950’s Indian film industry, a book on the trek to Shri Badrinath (1958 edition)…who’d have owned these? Why would someone sell them away?