Reflective. I feel someone, among the crowded room, put their hand into the small of my back. It slides up carefully–gently–to the nape of my neck...and ushers me forward. I am caught in a moment of memory, my mind whirring back to a time I was a child, where my father would usher me along the same, the small of my back, or the nape of my neck as if to say, ‘Run along now, go play with your friends.’. This isn’t my father though, but as I try to turn and see who it is, a hand swiftly pushes my. He said crossly, “Do you know what time it is?”Sushila did not say a word, and simply slipped past Subhash into the flat, and started going about her routine work. This further angered him. He quietly went into his bed-room and switched on the television in his bedroom. He could hardly concentrate in his anger, and was simply switching channels.”Sahab! Do you want tea?” When Subhash looked up it was Sushila asking this question to him. She was standing at the door of his bedroom as if refusing. More

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