Forum is a nobody’s discussion joint. It is a glitzy shopping mall that walks on curious gawkers. A third of the city crowd seems to be there as you can see from the cars in its underground womb.
We go to eat stuff from a capital joint. Not curious gawkers, we return with oily belches.
In the evening we walk through streets not full of sawdust but the fallen scraps of conversation from houses. Their words resonate through a dark silence that has descended upon the houses .
A dark silence is before men return from their walks. The men sit on stone slabs in the square and sip tea . When it is dark they will return to pick up threads from the earlier quarrels with the neighbors.
Looking back I have not noticed sawdust yet but I have just heard rice husk is no more. Rice Husk is the name of the loyal house maid in our in-laws house. She is 90 years of age. My memory is of a woman sweeping the house corners in a body wrinkled like a jack-fruit.