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A rain-scented walk in Sivagangai
It was a rain-scented walk. It had poured at the end of a blazing day, and besides the frogs and crickets, all that I could hear was Ilayaraja’s wheezy breath. ‘I was always asthmatic,’ he said, this too with his ready smile. Although a migrant – his family moved here from Salem when he was a baby – he knew Sivaganga well; he knew every bump and curve in the road, the motor-bikes, and the men who drove them.
ruralindiaonline.org/articles/a-rain-scented-walk-in-siva...
A rain-scented walk in Sivagangai
It was a rain-scented walk. It had poured at the end of a blazing day, and besides the frogs and crickets, all that I could hear was Ilayaraja’s wheezy breath. ‘I was always asthmatic,’ he said, this too with his ready smile. Although a migrant – his family moved here from Salem when he was a baby – he knew Sivaganga well; he knew every bump and curve in the road, the motor-bikes, and the men who drove them.
ruralindiaonline.org/articles/a-rain-scented-walk-in-siva...