Pungent aroma from the soft yellow petalled rajnigandha, fragrance from the incense stick dance to Pandit Ravi Shanker. The only light in the room was from a candle in a jar, and even that danced to the music.
I sat on the edge of the bed, next to a beautiful cupboard filled with books, and tin boxes with herbs. There was an ash white curtain with a navy blue or black print, something sold at FabIndia, or to foreign tourists as authentically Indian design.
A soft, gentle and cold breeze kissed my neck from the window right above my head, I can still feel it lingering sometimes.
Concrete Sunshine 