The hum and whir of summer is upon us, with the delicate scent of champa in the breeze – champa, the flowers that could be spotted in every nook and corner of Dubai, somewhere reminding me of childhood hours spent in Dadi maa’s (grandmother’s) lap. Her pallu (sari fall) covering my eyes, taking me away to a world that felt safer, more hopeful, brighter.
And so today, as the newspaper tells me of another gang-rape in my country, which celebrated ‘Independence Day’ (?) a week back, ‘Raksha-bandhan’ (?) two days back, I decided to bring in some champa flowers in my home today, remembering the safety in Dadi maa’s lap … pretending to read, dreaming of nothing more.