E.V. Ramakrishnan


The cobbler sits under the neem, mending
shoes, humming to himself, unmindful
of the day coming to a close. I watch his
elegant hands weave in and out of my tattered
shoes. The pan-shop radio splutters into sudden
life: Gorbachev has resigned. Yeltsin
assumes control of the commonwealth.

The cobbler threads the frayed ends of

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