The monsoon wind came in from the Arabian Sea like a slow penitence, carrying with it the ghost of my father's study — cardamom, old paper, and the faint metallic tang of the brass incense burner that sat on his desk even after he died. I had inherited the house on Marine Drive, the one with the high ceilings and the verandah that looked out over the grey churn of the Arabian Sea, and with it,...
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