There were no bar codes and no sticky tags, just a continuous flow, from the rain to the earth to a peasant woman to the market to us.
It stretched its body from the roof of the cage to kiss her . . .
My father’s departure from my life happened so abruptly.
I looked ahead with a determined, goose-step-like amnesia.
Raising the recurring question of authenticity . . .
Our essays editor, Derek Alger, passed away in late October. As a tribute we are re-posting all of his contributions to Ducts over the years. We hope you’ll enjoy his passion for writing and, more importantly, his love of people, as much as we have. We will miss him. For more on Derek, please read The Editor’s Note.
Into such an India I am born.
It’s jealousy that drives ex-wives’ rage.