Sangeetha Kamath

                AND WE ALL FALL DOWN! Willow Grove  November,1980 First, there were the letters. No identification, no stamp. The content inside was a single sheet of stark white paper and a single line which said, 'Own up before it's too late.' Taking it as a prank by the neighborhood kids, Drake would tear them into shreds and toss them into the trash bin. And then, the spate of harassment began. The letters wouldn't stop. As much as he ignored them, they arrived daily. The same single line, in every letter.  The houses here in Willow Grove were few and far between. Taking angry strides while fuming at the letter in hand, he faced the desolate, winding road in front of his gate, hurling abuses at no one in particular. He didn't dare go to the authorities, for fear that they would in turn, question him and dig up his past to see what he was supposed to 'own up' to. The letters were always hand delivered and that was worrying.  Retu...

                   ONCE UPON A TEAPOT  The quaint streets of Olde Mageia were fringed by an assortment of shops. The Teaware Store, which was shaped like a huge teapot, stood in the center of a rose garden at the crossroads of this street. The curator, a wizened old man, had a mop of hair so white that he looked as ancient as the Earth itself. He had a twinkle in his friendly blue eyes and fine lines around it— signs of him smiling and serving everyone with joy.  I stood at my usual spot looking out at the bleak weather, raindrops splattering in the rose garden, beating down hard on the window panes and blurring the scenery outside. The warmth of the fireplace did nothing to banish the gloom in my heart. My best friend who always stood beside me with her cheerful face was leaving today to her new home. One of her hands was outstretched in a perpetual friendly wave — a spout of a teapot and the other formed a curve like the hand...