Sangeetha Kamath

August , just as its name, is so regal. This year it hits quite differently as it stumbles along heavy-footed and highly lethargic. August this year is an excruciating dead weight sandbag. Peppering the phases of sleepless nights and restless days are moments of regrets---unspoken words, words that could have been paused, things that could have played out differently, moments that could have been lived more deeply...  What once was a month which gifted colour back to the dawns and dusk as the shy, mellow sunshine breathed a golden glow in the air after the dense and gloomy monsoons bid a goodbye, August this year is a frosty overcast of a grey, damp July chill. My dad's birthday falls in this month and if he had just made it four months longer, he would've been 80 years old on the 22nd. He had held with the last ounce of his laboured breaths to see this milestone which was not to be. A final wish in his every delirium moment that would shatter my heart every time he expressed i...