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water well outside home

The Woman in the Well

ANU KUMAR
For nearly two years of my life, I lived with a ghost. It was when my father, a civil servant, was posted in Sambalpur, a now forgotten town in northern Odisha, a state in India’s east. Newspapers then, and even now, always added the descriptor “India’s poorest state”...

stone paths with ivy climbing on stone walls

Flashé Sur Moi

ADRIENNE G. PERRY
He pulled up as I walked on the side of a busy Lyon road, the type that becomes a highway once it hits the outskirts of town. Ignoring the thick traffic behind him, he stalked me slowly in a compact car, beckoned to me through his open window, across the empty passenger seat.

Image of three members of a marching band, dressed in orange and yellow.

The Marching Bands of Mahatma Gandhi Road

LIESL SCHWABE
The image that continues to resonate with me, however, is from that hot, humid night on the landing, under the tube lighting, with the Mahboob Band. And how, after the first few minutes of music, a pack of kids jostled their way up the stairs.