The Wistful Grid
Act I The square is green, the square is wet, the square is wrong. I write this down because the ink is the only thing that stays put. The banyan has bloomed. It should not be blooming in the month of rains, but it is, a thick, white pressure against the dark bark. My brother Ravi stands in the mud, looking at the flowers as if they are his own blood. He is nineteen, small, and he carries the...
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