Word from the Streets captures Richard Rose’s experience of Bangalore through his many visits.
Pishi’s car had still not pulled out of the driveway. Inside the house, Baba’s door closed on us. Under the yellow porch bulb that was…
He was a man, like all the rest, or so my mamma said. The violet and green that decorate my body, a sign of his…
This is where they come to roost in the twilight of their lives, waking to river song and birdcall riding the waves of myriad river…
No, my sweet, I would not enjoy any additional breadsticks. I would not like your salt and garlic speckled dough cocks. Even for this…
Hiraeth (n.) A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the grief for the lost places of…
They say drowning hurts. Really, really hurts. They say it’s excruciating and scarier than you can imagine. I suppose that makes sense, given that water…
I was dressed in a ghastly shade of pink, bright and sugary, like a Popsicle. My skin reeked of sun block and bug repellant. The…