“I can’t wait, I can’t wait! We’ll be out in a few days!” chirped Speckled Spud, brushing his brown jacket in excitement. But soon, joy turned to panic as floodwaters surged in, uprooting dreams. The Spud Kingdom bobbed in muddy deluge, while helpless farmers fished for their ruined crop, betrayed by seeds, ignored by the system.

She had cast a mesmerising influence on me. A day without meeting her began to seem drab, dull, meaningless. We met two or three times, and each time my heart danced in joy at the warmth of uninterrupted, heartening, candid talk... Last week, Indrani’s husband came with their two grown-up kids to find me and deliver the shocking news that left me half-dead in despair. Indrani was no more.

In a small room of the huge haveli, the midwife coaxed and cajoled the would-be mother to push, to hold on for some more time. She consoled her that in some time, everything would be fine. Half an hour later, as the moans of the mother subsided, and a hush descended, the midwife came out and announced the birth of a girl. Seventy years ago, in the year 1955, the birth of a girl was not an occasion to celebrate, and if that girl child happened to be an albino, it was enough to