Monsoon Memories  (Paperback)

Shirin dreamt of home. Of monsoon showers drumming their rat-a-tat beat on the tiled roof. Of sitting on the veranda sipping hot sweet tea and biting into spicy potato bondas freshly cooked by Madhu. Of Madhu herself, in her pink sari with white flowers, washing clothes beside the well and smiling when she saw Shirin, opening her arms wide and welcoming her in, smelling of washing soap and fried onions and whispering in her ear, You came. I knew you would.'
Coconut-tree fronds danced in the wind, displacing drops of rain like the holy water Father Sequeira sprinkled across the pews as he walked down the church aisle on feast days; and the crows that were perched on the branches flew away, black silhouettes against a moody sky.