Haritha T Chandran’s story is a poignant narrative of lives intertwined in love and misery beyond life and death.
Devayani is at a viable, but dyable age, one where you no longer carry the weight of the world and don’t want to falter, and not yet at the age when you heated up in childish contentious spirit. Little slither of silver had started appearing in her dark mane, but silver spots were just islands in the Black sea. Her forehead denounced her with lines and curves of old age, but her skin stood loyal and firm. She often wonders what the headlines would be for the arbitrary if she were to die and how would it play out.
‘Middle-age women drop dead of a heart attack.’