My mother’s favourite colour was Red. Not the banal shade of withering roses, that has witnessed several empty promises or the monochromatic Saffron that wails for an adulterated history that sings of its virulent glory. But instead, the dark and brooding Crimson with shades of Cherry and hints of Mahogany. When I was still a child, she would always tell me that my … [Read more...]
Dhruv Trehan writes for Indian Review. Indian Literature that you can read and enjoy. Poems and poetry from India and around the world.
Dear friend, When you travel to Greece bring me back nothing but, a fistful of sand from the beaches of Santorini. Hold it in your hands and let it slip into the space between your thumb and index finger. Let it house itself there until you’re back into my arms and once you’re home, let your fists loose and let it slither down from your fingers into mine like … [Read more...]