At Kankaria Lake last week, I was watching a boy sell those little plastic windmills—they spin in the same breeze, no matter what flag you paint on them. Back home, I listened to an old Mukesh tape on my cassette player, and I thought: history is just the wind that somebody wrote down, the rest of us just felt it on our skin. We collect these stories like used spectacles—some help you see, some are just scratched. We will manage!
#colonial
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